Miles To Go
by BeeUtifulgirl
Summary: “I dunno,” Harry said helplessly. “But I know that this goes beyond the normal type of weird. Neville, that's my father.”A bit of a twist on the whole premise of Neville being the Boy Who Lived. Rated for safety.
1. Disturbing Serenity

B"H

Miles To Go

I don't own Harry Potter. You know, just in case you were wondering.

_The woods are lovely_

_Dark and deep_

_But I have promises to keep_

_And miles to go before I sleep_

_And miles to go before I sleep_

_-Robert Frost_

Chapter One

Disturbing Serenity

Neville's drift to consciousness was slow and painful. The first thing his mind registered was a pounding in his head that seemed to block out the aches in all his other limbs. He groaned, and tried to turn over. It was only then that he realized he was lying on a soft bed, with sunlight splashed across his face. He blinked blearily.

"Oh good," an unfamiliar male voice spoke from nearby.

"Ngh." Neville slurred in reply, and forced his eyes open. He found he was lying in the Hogwarts hospital wing, in one of the beds that was placed further up the ward. Early morning sunlight streamed in from the window next to his bed, giving the already white surroundings a blinding, ethereal glow. He shut his eyes again, trying to adjust to sudden brightness. The voice that had spoken belonged to a figure that was obscured in the contrast of light.

"Here," the man said helpfully, "I'll just shut the shades for you." Neville heard the rasp of the curtains, and nodded in thanks. His head throbbed at the movement.

"Th-Thanks," he croaked. He blinked experimentally, and then opened his eyes once more.

"Better?" The man, Neville could now see, was tall, thin and had a friendly, long face. Neville guessed he must've been close to forty years old, as his black hair was peppered lightly with flecks of gray and his eyes, behind his specs, were bordered by faint laugh lines. "I'm James; I'm going to be your healer for the day."

"I'm Neville," Neville answered automatically. His headache was slowly clearing, to be replaced by the familiar feeling that he had forgotten something important. _What was it?_ _Wait… who was this man? Did he work at Hogwarts? _Frantically, Neville tried to recall what had happened to put him in the infirmary in the first place, but the memories were scattered and unclear.

"Any last name there?" James asked, looking down at the chart Neville noticed he was holding, oblivious to Neville's mounting disconcertion.

"Longbottom," He answered nervously. He tried pushing himself up in bed, but found his arms were shaking too badly. James came forward to help, leaving the chart on the bedside table. Once he was sitting up properly in bed, Neville glanced surreptitiously at the medical chart and was surprised to see it was almost completely blank. Neville had lived at Hogwarts for close to seven years, and had collected long string of mishaps and minor sicknesses along the way. Surely, all that should've been written in his file? But, to his puzzlement, Neville could see that all that was filled in was his first name, and a brief description of his current state of health. James picked up the file again, and pulled out a quill.

"I just need some background information, before we can give you anything, Neville," He said, holding the quill at the ready. He waited for Neville' hesitant nod before continuing.

"Righto. Any allergies?" Neville shook his head and James made a mark on the paper, "Serious or chronic illnesses? Unliftable curses? Mental illnesses? No? Good. Your weight and height seem fine; you blood pressure count…hmm. Any history of broken bones? curses?"

"I broke my wrist in first year, my nose in fifth, and my right arm when I was eight…" Neville watched as James scribbled each down. "…and I've had _crucio_ used on me"

"And those were all healed by a proper healer?" Neville's bewilderment grew. Except for his arm, which had been taken care of at St. Mungo's, all his broken bones had been healed in this very hospital wing by Madame Pomfrey! Shouldn't his record say so?

"Madame Pomfrey healed those," Neville said, his voice betraying his growing confusion. James gave him a fleetingly startled look, before moving down the chart.

"I see," He said sounding odd, "Are you feeling any pain now?"

"Yeah…" Neville said, careful not to nod again. "My head hurts."

"Can you describe it? Throbbing? Sharp?"

"Throbbing…Kind of aching, I guess."

"Could you rate it on a scale of one to ten? One, being no pain at all, and ten being the worst possible?"

"Seven?" Neville said uncertainly. "Seven and a half?"

"Okay," James said carefully, "Jut a few more things and I'll go get you something for that. Can you tell me how you sustained the injuries that you have? Do you remember what happened?"

"No," Neville answered helplessly.

"Don't worry," James assured him, seeing his patient's fear, "You came in with something of a concussion, a slight memory lapse is perfectly normal." He tapped the quill on the form decisively, and said, "Right. I'm going to go get you something for your head and tell Pomfrey you're awake. I'll be right back." He turned and marched out to the head Healers office, leaving Neville to wonder.

The seventeen year old looked down the ward again. Now that he was more alert, he began taking in details of the ward. Down near the door he noticed the screens Pomfrey sometimes used were pulled around one of the beds. The Infirmary was otherwise empty, which puzzled Neville. Before he had been forced into hiding in the Room of Requirement, the Carrows had been hurting students on a daily basis. Neville could remember a near-constant stream of students with injuries tremors going in and out of the hospital wing each week. Why then was the ward so empty and tranquil now?

He rubbed his pounding head, trying to think. Had something happened? The answer came slowly. Yes…Harry, Ron and Hermione had come back…Neville could remember meeting them in Aberforth Dumbledore's sitting room, but what about after? Neville could remember feeling scared, determined, exhausted and angry, but not why. The feelings rolled together reminded him of fifth year when they had fought death eaters…_Death Eaters! Wait!_ Neville scrunched his eyes shut, rubbing his tender head in strain. He had had it. A fleeting glimpse. Death Eaters…Death Eaters… Death Eaters. A large fire…In the middle of the Forbidden Forest! Neville grabbed onto the next memory in excitements. _Okay, large fire, what else Neville? _ He thought to himself, pushing aside his frustration at his own absurd memory. Large fire with Death Eaters….Harry…was going to do…_ something_, but Neville had tried to stop it. That was it!...no, what was it?

"Argh," Neville growled in frustration as he lost the memory again. Harry had been trying to do something…something with Death Eaters around a large fire…in the Forbidden Forest. He twisted the linen blankets in his fists, as though trying to squeeze his memories from the sheets. He had just grasped at the image of an orange blaze flickering off the darkened eyes of a circle of Death Eaters again when James returned, carrying a smoky blue potion, with the diminutive mediwitch in tow.

Neville expected that Madame Pomfrey would come directly to check up on him first, but to his surprise, she broke off from James upon entering the ward and headed for the screened bed at the far end of the ward.

James however continued his approach, setting the pain reliever down next to Neville. He conjured a measuring glass from thin air, filled the cup halfway, and passed it over to Neville.

"Don't worry," James assured him when Neville eyed the potion suspiciously, "It won't make you drowsy."

"Not what I was worried about," Neville muttered, grimacing.

"Oh?" James asked as he watched Neville choke down the bitter concoction in one gulp.

"Yeah," Neville coughed, gagging. "I never liked that potion's taste." James laughed.

"Had it before, have you?"

"I could practically brew it myself, and that's saying something." Neville replied with earnest. "At least it works," he conceded as his aches cleared instantaneously. Undistracted now, he turned his mind back to his elusive memories, trying to piece together all that had happened. With some satisfaction, he could now remember that they'd been fighting Death Eaters on the…Hogwarts…grounds.

Neville suddenly shot up, panicking. His eyes darted around the tranquil hospital wing once more, and this time the questions screamed out at him. Hadn't there been a battle here? Where was the damage that the fight had caused? Where were the lines of the wounded who were supposed to be filling the room? What had happened to the bodies he himself had helped carry in from the grounds? Never had peace and serenity seemed so wrong.

"What's wrong, Neville? What's going on?" James asked in puzzled concern. James, who had just filled out a medical chart for Neville, which should have already existed. James, who had never worked at Hogwarts in Neville's memory and yet seemed to be old friends with the nurse at the end of the ward, and who obviously knew his way around the infirmary as naturally as if he'd been there for years.

Neville pushed back the covers, adrenaline forcing his weak and heavy limbs into action. He snatched his wand from his bedside table, ready to run to McGonagall, but James pushed him firmly back into bed.

"Neville, you're going to have to calm down," He said keeping a hand on the panicking boy's shoulder. "I don't know what is bothering you, but you need to relax."

"Where is everyone?" Neville demanded wildly. He tried to go on, but his panic had blocked his lungs and tightened his throat. "Wha… What's…?"

"Breathe, boy, "James held Neville's shoulders, looking around for Madame Pomfrey, who was rushing up the ward to help. Neville regained his voice, but not his composure.

"We were being attacked; we were fighting…Where is everyone?" James shot Poppy a questioning look, but she only shrugged helplessly. "Madame Pomfrey, you remember!" Neville's voice had risen to a shout "They…we were fighting! You were there!" Poppy tried shushing the screaming boy, hoping that remaining calm and quiet would soothe him, but he only got louder, struggling against James' hold. "No! Where's Luna? And Seamus? And Harry? Everyone was fighting! Why is everything okay now? Why is there no one here?"

"Neville."

Neville's head snapped towards the familiar, quiet voice. Harry stood at the side of Neville's bed, pale and drawn, his own wand grasped tightly in his right fist.

"Neville," Harry repeated. Neville stopped struggling, staring at his friend. "It's okay…"

"Harry?" Harry glanced at the two healers, both of whom let go of Neville and stepped away, keeping cautious eyes on the pair. Harry moved forward, and sat down on the edge of Neville's bed facing him. "Harry, what's going on?"

"I dunno," Harry said helplessly. "But I know that this goes beyond the normal type of weird."

"Why?"

"Because," Harry glanced at Healer James fleetingly, before lowering his voice and leaning closer to Neville, "Because, that's my father."

* * *

"How…" Neville began for the third time, but he seemed too overwhelmed to voice any specific question yet. Harry sighed heavily. Once Madame Pomfrey had realized that he and Neville were friends, she had allowed Harry to move into the bed next to Neville, and the two healers had withdrawn from the room. Neville's eyes were still wide with shock and confusion. Harry shrugged helplessly.

"Do…" Harry asked hesitantly, "Do you remember…?" Neville frowned and Harry added hastily, "I only ask because you were knocked out pretty hard."

"Bits," Neville said with a deeper scowl, staring at the far wall of the ward. "Was there something about a fire?"

"Yeah, there was." Harry hesitated for a fraction of a second. "The Death Eaters were all gathered in the Forbidden Forest. They'd lit the fire." Neville shut his eyes for a second.

"Wait," he said, shaking his head, "Why were we there at all? Wasn't everyone gathering in the Great Hall?" Neville opened his eyes to see reluctance and guilt flash across Harry's face, and a sliver of memory bubbled up in his mind. Harry had been about to…Neville was going to stop Harry from…what was it? Then, all too clearly, the memory of a frigid, clear, ear splitting voice, echoing out of the very walls of Hogwarts seemed to jolt Neville's mind back into functioning. _Give me Harry Potter and none shall be harmed…you have until midnight. _

Neville turned wide eyes on his friend. Harry had been about to sacrifice himself. Neville had guessed what his old friend was planning to do when Harry had approached him on the castle grounds. Neville had watched as Harry headed off to the Forbidden Forest alone, and he had followed him. The trip through the forest had been dark and terrifying, stumbling along behind the sound of Harry's cloak dragging against the debris of the forest floor. At any second, Neville had expected to walk right into a Death Eater' ambush, or to encounter more of the eight foot spiders that had attacked the castle. Still, he had determinedly followed Harry directly to Voldemort's circle of followers and, in a burst of insane courage, had leapt out to meet the enemy face on, only to be blasted into a tree by some curse Voldemort had shot at Harry. Beyond a scream of denial, and an intense burning where the curse had hit him in the chest, Neville could remember nothing after that.

James watched from the doorway as Neville's face whitened by three shades. Whatever Poppy's two patients were discussing was obviously a shock. James moved forward once more, trying to help, but upon seeing his approach, the unfamiliar boy stiffened and Neville scrambled backward, trying to distance himself as much as possible. James already stopped abruptly. It unnerved him, the way the two patients stared at him, wide-eyed and frightened, but it was the thread of their conversation, that made him pause,

"…could you?" Neville sounded hurt. "We were fighting for _you_. Why would you just give up?" Harry's eyes darted around the deserted hospital wing, reminding James of a trapped animal.

"Could we not do this here?" Harry hissed. "We need to figure out what's going- I promise you can attack me once we know, okay?" He added as Neville opened his mouth again. Neville scowled, but agreed.

"Any ideas?" Neville asked, sounding calmer, though unappeased. "What happened after I blacked out?"

"I…" Harry cleared his throat. "You-Know-Who threw a couple curses at us. I held him off for a bit… even got his wand- well, his second wand" He added hastily, seeing Neville's eyes widen. "He has- well had- two. But there were too many Death Eaters around…we needed to get out, so I grabbed you and then there was this explosion of light…I dunno… and all of a sudden we were alone in the clearing."

"Where'd they go?" Neville faintly remembered that it was impossible to disapperate from Hogwarts.

"I dunno," Harry ran his hand through his overgrown hair, "I think the better question would be where _we _went?"

An idea drifted across Neville's memory, "You don't think we could be hallucinating, do you?"

"The thought did cross my mind," Harry admitted wryly. "Why?"

"My Gran used to tell me about these… spells the ministry would use on suspects…"Neville suggested hesitantly, "make them see things so clearly they wouldn't fight back."

"It's a thought…" Harry said slowly, "but why wouldn't they just kill us?" Neville shrugged helplessly."And why would they make us see things we'd know aren't true?"

"Okay…well we both can't be having the exact same hallucination."

"No, no," Harry assured him, "We don't have to completely rule it out but…" his furrowed his brow in thought as he trailed off. "They could be imposters… no. That just goes back to why they'd choose my dad, and why they wouldn't just kill us." Neville 'hmm'd in agreement.

"What?" James choked, forgetting himself. The two boy's heads snapped in his direction. Ignoring the way both boy's hands tightened on their wands, James moved forward, his voice sharp, "What did you say?" The two boys glanced significantly at each other, and the one whose name James couldn't recall opened his mouth.

"Well…" He took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever he was about to say. But before he could begin again, the hospital wing doors burst open with a bang that made all three men jump. A red headed seventh year and his sister, both sopping wet and wearing quidditch robes, stood framed in the doorway, bending under the weight of their injured teammate, who they held between them.

"Madame Pomfrey!" Ron Weasley shouted. With some regret, James abandoned the conversation and rushed up the ward.


	2. Beyond The Normal Type Of Weird

B"H

Miles To Go Harry Potter's not mine.

Thank so much for all you guys who responded so well to my first chapter. I wasn't going to post this yet, because I have midterms very soon, but because the first chapter did so well, I decided to put it up anyway. Also, I forgot to put this in last chapter, but many thanks to my "extra comma" person, Visuallychallenged22, and my content person, GracefulGoddess for all their help. I love you guys!

Chapter Two

Beyond The Normal Type Of Weird

Lightening flashed, illuminating the gray pitch, seconds before the sound of thunder growled fiercely, blocking out whatever Ginny had been shouting at him over the howling wind. Ron flung his sopping hair out of his face, and wondered yet again why he hadn't cancelled practice. It wasn't enough that it was ruddy early in the morning, it was also pouring so hard that he couldn't see five feet in front of him most of the time. He was sure the rest of the team felt the same. It was time to give it up, he decided.

He fumbled at his neckline for the whistle he wore on a chain, but before he could wrap his numb, shaking fingers around it, a startled shout pierced the air, loud enough to be heard over the rain, wind and thunder. Frantically, Ron spotted Colin Creevey, one of his chasers, having just toppled from his slick broom, falling though the air from what must have been fifty feet up. Without pausing to think, Ron accelerated toward Colin, tilting his broom down, trying desperately to reach him. Rain pelted his face as he squinted furiously through the haze of precipitation and cloud, praying desperately that he'd reach Colin before the boy hit the ground. A bludger narrowly missed him as Ron swerved through the air, cursing. Feet from the ground, he finally managed to grab hold of Colin's robes but the extra weight sent Ron flying from his broom. The momentum of his fall sent him crashing into Colin, both of them rolling for several feet through the mud, before they finally came to a stop.

Ron lay on the muddy field, winded, staring up at the murky sky for a minute, before a moan from beside him pushed him to his feet. The rest of the team splattered down around the two of them as Ron checked on Colin.

"You alright?" He asked roughly, bending down beside him. Colin shook his head, his face contorted in pain.

"My…leg," he croaked. Ron looked and saw that Colin's leg, which he was clutching at painfully, was bent at an impossible angle and swelling rapidly.

"Okay," he said, trying to remain calm, as Demelza helpfully pointed out, "It looks broken." Several of the other team members murmured agreement.

"Okay," Ron said again, "Help me get him up; we'll take him to Pomfrey." Jimmy Peakes, one of the beaters, carefully helped maneuver Colin to his feet, and Ron pulled the injured boy's arm over his shoulder. Ginny offered to walk with them, and the rest of the team headed back to the locker rooms to shower and change. Leaning under the smaller boy's arm, the two made their laborious way up to the castle.

"It's alright, Colin," Ginny reassured her friend as they limped through the deserted, cavernous entrance hall. "Pomfrey will be able to mend it in about a second." Colin nodded tightly. Ginny pulled his other arm over her shoulder as the trio reached the stairs. Ron flashed a grateful look in her direction, and the pair of them lifted Colin up the stairs carefully. It was slow going, but they eventually reached the infirmary and Ron kicked the door open, yelling for the mediwitch.

It was only after settling Colin into one of the beds with Healer Potter's help and explaining what had happened that Ron noticed the two new patients further up the ward. He studied them curiously out of the corner of his eye while pretending to listen as Madame Pomfrey berated the three of them for flying during thunderstorms while tending to Colin. Both boys had to be around Ron's own age, with overgrown dark hair. It was hard to guess at their height, as they were both sitting down; the thinner boy was perched on the edge of the other's bed. Even from here, Ron could see that the second boy was sporting a nasty looking black eye, and that both wore similar expressions of poorly hidden shock. Who could they be? Ron was quite sure he knew all the students of his year, at least by name. These two, Ron was quite sure he had never seen before. They had been watching Madame Pomfrey fix Colin's leg and now were speaking quietly to one another, glancing occasionally down the ward.

"…is that clear?" Madame Pomfrey's voice broke through Ron's thoughts. He nodded, insincerely. He promised never to hold practice in such bad weather again, and asked after Colin' health again.

"He'll be fine," Pomfrey answered, gathering up Colin's chart from the bedside table and marching back to her office.

"Thank you," Colin called after her retreating back, and then slid off the bed. He gingerly tested his newly mended leg, smiled and turned to Ron. "Okay mate, lets go, then."

"Sure," Ron said. They had reached the infirmary door before Ron realized that Ginny hadn't followed them. He pulled Colin to a stop, looking around. His younger sister had walked up the ward to the two boys and seemed to have introduced herself. Ron rolled his eyes; Ginny had never had any problems with starting up conversations with complete strangers, something Ron could never understand. He watched her laugh amiably, and smile.

"Well, I'll see you around, I guess," she said and raised a hand in goodbye, turning to head back to her brother and friend. As she walked back, Ron saw her duck her head, a pleased smile on her face, her face slightly pinker than usual. Focused as he was on his little sister's face, Ron didn't notice the pained, almost longing look the boy with the glasses was wearing as he watched the redhead's retreating figure. Colin waited until the three of them had left the infirmary before turning to his friend and voicing Ron's thoughts.

"So who were they?" he asked, jerking his head down the corridor behind them. Ginny tucked a still damp strand of hair behind her ear, glancing back down the corridor.

"They're staying in the castle for a bit. Just got here a couple days ago," she answered. "Neville and Harry, I think it was."

"What are they doing in the hospital?" Ron asked, frowning.

"Apparently Neville-the one without the glasses- has a concussion. Healer Potter was treating him." Ginny said, shrugging. "Anyway, they're just up from London and don't know how long they'll be staying."

"Why're they visiting the school?" Ron asked.

"Didn't say. Maybe they want to enroll?" Ginny shrugged again. "I'm starving," she added. "Let's get some breakfast, yeah?" The boys agreed and the trio changed course, heading towards the Great Hall. The late Saturday morning crowd was still trickling in and out, as the last vestiges of the thunderstorm finally cleared up. Ron automatically checked the enchanted ceiling as he entered the hall, the buzz of a hundred voices filling the room. He was glad to see the clouds outside were rolling back to allow the weak September sun to show through. He, Colin and Ginny found seats near the center of the Gryffindor table, and tucked into the delicious meal before them.

Ron had just pushed back his second plate of eggs and sausages, when he noticed Healer Potter stride past the table, making a beeline for the teacher's table at the head of the hall. Ron guessed that whatever reason he had for coming had to do with the two strangers in the infirmary. Though he did know that there couldn't be anything particularly remarkable about the two visitors, his natural inclination towards curiosity couldn't stop him from elbowing Colin and jerking his head towards James. The two of them watched as the mediwizard reached Professor Dumbledore, who greeted James with a smile, which gradually turned more serious as he listened to whatever the man had to say. The ancient headmaster then stood with an alacrity that belied his one hundred fifty years and followed his younger colleague out of the hall once again. Ron and Colin exchanged curious looks, then, with silent agreement, both stood discreetly to follow the two professors out. Ginny, who had been engaged in conversation with one of her friends from Ravenclaw, chose not to follow, but hissed, "Tell me what you find out," as they stood up from the table.

The two Gryffindors crept along in the Professors' wake, trying to appear unnoticed. It came as no surprise when they reached the hospital corridor and saw the edge of Dumbledore's light blue robes disappear through the door, which shut behind him.

Virtually on tiptoe, Ron and Colin approached the door. Ron leaned almost casually against the wall, listening intently as Colin bent down, pretending to do up his shoelaces, to peek through the crack between the door and ground. Through the opening, he could see the bottom of three robes, two of which were the medical uniform black, one being Dumbledore's light blue. The three were grouped in a triangle, and as James shifted to the right, a pair of battered trainers came into view. He watched as the feet in the trainers paced back and forth and the murmurings drifting through the walls gradually became discernable words.

Neville would have thought this place could not get any weirder. He was still reeling from the shock of seeing Colin Creevey alive once more. It seemed only hours ago that Neville had carried his tiny, cold body in from the ravaged grounds. Yet there the boy had been sitting, grimacing in pain and clutching a broken leg, but still miraculously _alive_. Harry was right; this went_ far_ beyond weird. The shock of seeing the younger boy had left Neville speechless.

But this, this was far too much. Neville stared wide eyed as Professor Dumbledore swept into the room, looking as serene, wise, and composed as ever. A distant part of Neville's brain considered pinching himself in the leg to test whether he was dreaming, but his fingers wouldn't respond. A second, quieter voice wondered if he and Harry had simply died. It would certainly explain why there were so many dead people here. But wasn't the afterlife supposed to be less… solid? Shouldn't there have been a flash of light? Why would he end his existence in Hogwarts castle, of all places? Even while Neville's mind swirled with questions, Harry stood slowly, looking as white and shocked as Neville felt.

"Professor?" he said faintly. The sight of his dear headmaster alive and well…it was what he had been aching for all last year: Dumbledore's advice and support, the wonderful knowledge that someone far wiser than he was going to take care of everything, the relief that only Dumbledore's calming presence could bring him. In that second all his doubts and resentments from last year were forgotten. Dumbledore was here, alive once again for some inexplicable reason…he would know what to do.

Dumbledore had turned to him, "Yes?" But Harry couldn't speak. He shook his head mutely, trying to get a hold of his emotions as puzzlement, terror, sorrow, and unbound happiness all roiled within him. After a long stretch of silence Dumbledore spoke again. "Perhaps we should begin with introductions?" Behind Harry, Neville nodded mutely.

"Don't…"Harry swallowed, "don't you recognize us?" He searched the Headmaster's clear blue eyes, but found no hint of familiarity. A faint frown had appeared on the Professor's face.

"No, I'm afraid I don't," Dumbledore answered carefully, peering over his spectacles. Behind him, Pomfrey and James exchanged glances. "Was there any reason that you believe I should?" Harry tore his eyes from the gaze of his old mentor, pacing up and down the length of the hospital bed, rubbing a hand over his forehead in distress. His thoughts twisted and swirled, refusing to be gathered into words. The other four occupants of the room, and unbeknownst to him, the two Gryffindors outside in the hall, waited for his answer. Finally, he sank down onto Neville's bed, running hand through his hair.

"I don't know what's going on," he sighed, defeated and confused. "We were fighting Death Eaters on the grounds...then Voldemort…" He shut his eyes, the memories overpowering him, forcing him to stop. Dumbledore's gentle tone broke through his thoughts.

"Can I ask your names?"

"Harry Potter." With no control over his tumbling thoughts, Harry pushed it all aside, all the memories, emotions, and questions. Whatever was going on, he found it easier to go along with the rules of this bizarre situation. "This is Neville Longbottom," he added, gesturing to Neville behind him.

Outside in the hall, Colin was getting a crick in his neck. He stood up carefully to avoid making noise leaning against the wall next to his gangly friend. He gave Ron a questioning look and jerked his head down the corridor, mouthing, _Should we go_? Ron shrugged and shook his head. Not yet.

Ron considered the scene happening behind the wall. So far, they had not learned anything new, other than the fact that the two boys were more peculiar than it had originally appeared. The vague snippets the Harry kid had let slip were enough to arouse Ron's full attention, but for the moment the conversation had drifted back to the mundane. From what he could discern, Dumbledore had taken control of the situation, and was now discussing where the boy would be staying once they were released from the Hospital Wing. Were they enrolling, after all? The sound of approaching footsteps from inside the Wing cut his thoughts short. He and Colin scrambled up and rushed down the corridor, slowing to an innocent walk when they heard the door to the infirmary open. They turned the corner at the end of the hall, just as they heard Professor Dumbledore instruct Madame Pomfrey to keep him informed of the two boy's conditions.

"We'll have two new beds set up in Gryffindor Tower by this evening, I think," the Headmaster added and swept off down the hall. After exchanging one last glance, Colin and Ron hurried off to find Ginny.

* * *

"I don't know what all this is, Neville," Harry said, running his hand absentmindedly over his scar. "I think we'll just have to live with it for now." He felt a twinge of guilt, as a small voice in his head reminded him that he still hadn't told Neville the whole truth of what had happened in the forest, but he pushed it roughly aside. He couldn't think about that now. He would tell Neville, he promised himself, but not now.

Mercifully, Dumbledore had asked no further questions for the time being, other than to inquire in which house the two boys would like to stay. He had arranged for the two Gryffindor's accommodations and told them that they would meet with Professor McGonagall before the end of the day to discuss which lessons they would be taking during their stay. For now, the two boys would remain in the infirmary until evening time. Harry and Neville had thanked the Headmaster and he had swept off. Harry collapsed onto the infirmary bed in exhaustion, utterly and emotionally spent.

It was only now, lying on his bed, staring up at the familiar, brightly lit infirmary ceiling that Harry thought to wonder why they had called Dumbledore at all. Could it be that the people around Neville and himself had just as many unanswerable questions as the two boys? The thought unnerved him; if they did not have any explanation for what was going on, then who did? Dumbledore had offered no explanation either. Did that mean he did not have one, or was he simply holding back to let them figure it all out on their own, as Harry had known him to do so many times before? He looked over at Neville, and found that his friend was watching him with the same hurt look. Harry held his gaze for a second, before breaking eye contact again.

"Are you still mad at me?" he asked dully, staring at the ceiling once again. He heard Neville shift in bed, then sit up.

"I just don't understand…" Neville whispered sadly."Why would you just give up like that?" Harry shook his head, but didn't answer immediately. "Was it for us? Were you trying to save us? Voldemort would have killed us all anyway. Death Eaters don't show mercy if you give them what they want, Harry. I learned that last year. They don't care! They won't go easy on you if you lie down for them!" Neville's voice had risen to almost a shout, but then dropped to a whisper as he added, "You were the one who taught me that. You _always _fought back. How could you just give up?" He waited for Harry to answer, but Harry found he couldn't. How could he explain everything?


	3. Growing Tired of The Questions

B"H

Miles To Go

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. I mean, seriously, if I was making money off of this, don't you think I would procrastinate less?

Thanks again to my wonderful, wonderful unofficial betas, Visuallychallenged22 and GracefulGoddess, and to everyone whose been reading this so far!

Chapter 3 Growing Tired of the Questions

It was already after dinner when Harry and Neville were directed through the sparsely populated halls up to Gryffindor Tower by a highstrung and jumpy house-elf who had been too nervous to even tell them her name. After stuttering the password to them in a breathless voice, she disappeared with a sharp crack the second they arrived at the end of the seventh floor. Fat Lady let them in at the word, "Cumulonimbus" with nothing more than a curious look, and the two boys entered the noisy, warmly lit Common room. Scarcely glancing around at the usual scene of students doing homework, playing card games, and generally relaxing after a long day of classes, the two seventeen year olds picked their way across the room to the stairs which led to the dormitories. Neither noticed the stare of the two red headed Weasleys, who watched as the two strangers disappeared up the dimly lit stairwell. Ron shot a look at his sister.

"Well, go on," she urged him, just as curious to find out more about the two boys as Ron was. The two of them had been discussing little else all day long. Ron shrugged, and then gathered his unfinished homework into his bag. He made his way between the clusters of students and climbed the dormitory stairs. He hesitated outside the closed door, waiting to see if he could overhear anything the two inside might be discussing. If he felt some regret about shamelessly eavesdropping like that, he ignored it. From what the Harry kid had said earlier, these boys had had some sort of run-in with Voldemort, and Ron's curiosity had been building steadily all day long. He strained his ears, but could make nothing out from the murmuring that drifted through the heavy dorm door. Giving up, Ron pushed the door open, unsurprised when silence immediately fell in the dorm.

Both inhabitants of the newly expanded room had frozen, staring at Ron, who coughed uncomfortably. Appearing to shake himself from a stupor, the boy wearing glasses spoke up.

"Can I help you?" He asked in a would-be-casual voice. Ron noticed the second boy also appeared upset, gripping the bedpost of one of the new beds Ron had heard Dumbledore mention. Ron moved into the room, depositing his bag on his own unmade bed.

"I live here," he said sticking out a hand to the boy who had spoken, "Ron Weasley."

"Harry Potter," Harry said, taking the proffered hand. The fact that his best friend of almost seven years didn't recognize him was a shock, but no different than Dumbledore's ignorance. It was just one more insanity to add to the list. But then, no one in the entire castle had recognized them, so why would Ron be any different?

"Neville Longbottom." Neville shook Ron's hand once, but let go too eagerly.

"You lot gonna be staying here long?" Ron asked, looking from one to the other.

"It appears that way," Harry said dryly, with a glance around the room. "We were just enrolled this afternoon." Ron raised his eyebrows.

"Why'd you apply now, of all times?" He asked, voicing only one of the thousand questions that had been chasing themselves through his head all day. Harry shrugged.

"Life happens," He said enigmatically, "I certainly didn't expect to spend my seventh year at Hogwarts." Behind Harry, Ron saw Neville smile grimly. An awkward silence stretched between them.

"Where're you from, then?"Ron asked, trying to break up the tension in the air.

"I grew up in London," Neville spoke up finally, "Harry's from Surrey, right?" He added, turning to his friend, who nodded. There was another silence, and then Neville added, "You?"

"Oh. My parents live near Ottery-St Catchpole," Ron could see that neither boy was especially in the mood to talk. The carefully guarded, cold expressions and constant exchange of meaningful looks really put a strain on the entire flagging conversation. He wouldn't be getting any more information out of the two, he realized disappointedly. Although, he asked himself irritably, what had he expected? Were they going to spill their whole life stories to him, a complete stranger, the very second they met? Of course not.

"Well." He said with a sigh, desperate to end the conversation now, "Let me know if you…er… need anything. My sister- you've already met her- she's a prefect too, so I'm sure she'll be willing to help too."

"Yeah, she mentioned that this morning," Neville said. "Thanks."

"Yeah." Ron turned awkwardly. "Well, I'm just gonna…yeah… go." He grabbed his Cleansweep, which was propped by the door all but fled the room, his ears flaming red in embarrassment.

* * *

Neville sat at the end of his bed for a few minutes, while the echoes of Ron's hasty departure faded from the atmosphere. Harry was still lost in thought, staring at the place where Ron had stood. He didn't seem to be surfacing anytime soon, so Neville, with a glance at his watch to ensure that it wasn't too early, began to prepare for bed. Someone, Dumbledore presumably, had arranged for Harry and Neville's belongings. They had arrived at Hogwarts with nothing more than their own wands, Harry's invisibility cloak, the pouch Harry wore around his neck, and Voldemort's wand, the latter three having been returned to Harry when he'd been released from the hospital. But both boys had found full trunks at the end of their respective beds, packed with all they would need. He dug through the chest, finding nightclothes, a towel, soap, and shampoo and with his discoveries in hand, marched off to the showers.

Neville stopped short at the sight of himself in the mirror. He hadn't seen a mirror in weeks, between hiding out in the Room of Requirement, and his brief stay in the hospital wing. He noticed absently his burnished brown hair had grown out longer than he had ever worn it, but it was his own face that drew him up short. He looked thinner almost gaunt and his eyes were lined with dark circles, one of them still purple and swollen. The old cuts and scrapes he had received from the Carrows were scabbed over, while smaller, fresher ones littered his face as souvenirs of battle. Looking closer, he noticed that weary lines had carved themselves around his mouth, across his forehead, and alongside his eyes. He supposed they were the result of the worry and constant fear, living under Death Eater rule for almost ten months, but he was still disturbed. Tearing his eyes away from the unfamiliar boy in the glass, Neville undressed and stepped into the shower.

Twenty minutes of scalding water later, he stepped out, dried off, and began pulling on his pajamas. He had already pulled on his pajama bottoms when something caught his eye. He stared down at his bare chest. There, situated just above his heart, stretching almost up to his collar bone, was a thin, dark line, a scar in the shape of a lightening bolt. Where had that come from? The only person he knew with a scar in that exact shape was Harry, of course. The famous curse scar, a result of Voldemort's Killing Curse. How was it Neville now had the same mark drawn into his chest? Had one of the Death Eaters stabbed him, perhaps?

"Harry?" he called uncertainly. Through the closed bathroom door, he heard Harry answer.

"Hmm?" When Neville didn't answer immediately, Harry's voice took on a concerned tone. "Is something wrong?" There was the sound of someone sliding out of bed, then Harry' footfalls could be heard. He stopped just outside the bathroom door. "What is it, Neville?" Neville unlocked the door, and opened it. Pushing aside his embarrassment at the situation, he stepped beneath the light.

"Could you look at this?" He asked, pointing to the unfamiliar mark on his chest. Harry moved closer frowning. Under the bright bathroom lamps, Neville saw his face whiten. "What is it?"

"I…I'm not sure…"Still, Neville could see the ideas churning in his friend's mind,

"But you have some idea, surely?" Neville pressed him, worried. At this point, he was growing tired of all the unanswerable questions. Harry, meanwhile, was only just beginning to grasp the horror of what had occurred that night in the forest. Dumbledore's voice was most prominent of all within his head, _"Sibyll's Prophecy might have applied to two wizard boys…one, of course was you. The other was Neville Longbottom"._ Neville's parents had defied Voldemort three times, and their son was born as July had ended. The only thing that had kept Neville from being in Harry' position was that he had not been marked by Lord Voldemort. Harry had. But that night in the forest…as Harry had stood before the great bonfire, trying desperately to hold his fear back… Voldemort' mouth had opened to form the words of the curse that had taken so many from Harry. As the blinding green had blasted its way toward him an inarticulate cry of rage, of insane bravery had sounded, shattering the silence that held the occupants of the circle trapped…the blinding flash of death had not hit Harry…in that split second Neville had charged forward and had been thrown back as the curse sent him hurtling back into a nearby tree. Two boys, born at the end of July, born to parents who had defied Voldemort…and now both had been marked as the Dark Lord's equal. Equals who were now obligated to die. Neither would live, neither would survive. The memory from the Pensieve in Dumbledore's office kept turning in his head:

"_So the boy, the boy must die?" _

"_And Voldemort himself must do it_…" Neville…no. Harry was shaking, leaning against the damp bathroom wall. It was bad enough that he himself would have to face Voldemort, how could he condemn Neville to that fate? Neville, who had only gone into that forest to save Harry! Harry had gone into the forest so that his friends, the only family he had would live, so they could live without that black mass of hatred, fear, and death that was Lord Voldemort's tyranny ruling their lives. But now, both boys were carrying, and protecting Voldemort's soul, binding him to this world. He buried his face in his hands, fingers gripping his hair, and slid down the wall. He had to tell Neville…he owed it to him.

"Neville…I… haven't been completely honest with you."

……………………………………

With a single wave of his wand James extinguished the infirmary hall's lamps, pulling the door shut behind him. With a tired sigh, he walked across Poppy's dimly lit office to the empty fireplace. He had pulled the floo powder jar off the mantle when the open file on the mediwitch's desk caught his eye. Looking closer, James could see that the file belonged to Harry Potter. Curious, he picked up the file. Just as the other boy's, Neville's most of the background information was blank. There was no address, no family contact information, not even names. But that was consistent with the mystery the two boys had sparked with their presence. It was jut over a day ago that the pair had arrived. Their appearance had set off no alarms, which meant that they had not come through any of the gates, all of which had been locked at the time anyway. Dumbledore was still looking into how this was possible; without entering the grounds, the two had somehow been in the Forbidden Forest. Both looked like they had come through a fight. Both were covered scratches, bruises, blood and rubble, their robes torn and Neville had been unconscious. Both of them, Harry when he had arrived, and Neville upon awakening several hours later, had seemed confused, speaking of some battle. They seemed to know who everyone around them was before being introduced, but seemed wary of those very people, James and Professor Dumbledore included, as though they were not supposed to be alive. The whole business was very strange.

James turned the page. A brief physical description marked the second page at the top, followed by a list of medical history in Pomfrey's neat handwriting that astonished James:

_basilisk bite (right arm); (venom) treated_

_snake bite(right arm);(no venom) untreated, _

_Acromantula sting: untreated_

_bone fracture( right arm) ; treated_

_bone fracture (three ribs):treated_

_bone fracture (skull): treated_

_Laceration caused by knife, (right arm): treated_

_Laceration caused by Blood Quill (right hand; scarring: "I Must Not Tell Lies"): untreated_

_previously vanished bones: re-grown (right arm);treated_

_Exposure to multiple use of the Cruciatus curse: treated_

_Extreme exposure to dementors: treated_

_Possession: untreated_

_Unidentifiable curse, dark in nature (scar): untreated?_

_*evidence of previous, long term neglect, including signs of early malnutrition_

_Recent injuries_

_Laceration (head injury): treated_

_Mild burns (second degree): treated_

_Recent exposure to dementors_

Honestly, what kind of life did this boy live, to have gone through all this? James wondered what Pomfrey must have been thinking when she took the history down. James knew the old mediwitch had a spell for tracking a patient's medical history, something he himself hadn't mastered yet. The spell was devilishly tricky, but could detect injuries from over ten years previously and was entirely accurate, which ruled out the possibility that Harry had been fabricated these injuries.

What disconcerted James most was that he knew for a fact that most of the Order didn't have injury lists this long, unless they were on the front line of the fight against Voldemort's Death Eaters. Granted, Mad-Eye Moody's medical history might've been longer, but the old auror had been part of the fight for nearly thirty years. Where on earth had this seventeen year old been, to be subjected to all this? And it wasn't just the length of injuries that disturbed James, but the rarity too, of some of the injuries: dementors? Acromantulas? _Basilisks_? _Possession_? What had the boy been Possessed by? Perhaps an unfriendly ghost or other form of spirit? Those weren't common, true, but they were still more common than basilisks. And the scarring from the Blood Quill, too. Blood Quills had been widely used in the past centuries for legal documents sealed with blood magic. Such documents were usually matters of inheritance among the older Pureblood families. Thing was, it would take a ridiculous amount of use to wear out the healing spell placed upon the quill, let alone cause scarring of any sort. And the Cruciatus curse; James remembered that the other boy too had mentioned having the Cruciatus used on him as well. What had these boys been through?

Carefully placing the file back on the desk, James moved once again to the fireplace. He had an Order meeting at Grimmauld Place, where he could consult Dumbledore about the two boys. Dumbledore had been investigating the matter all day, he must have come up with something. With the comforting thought that his questions would soon be answered, James dug into the floo pot. With a roar of green flames, he was gone.

…………………

Sirius Black unfolded himself from Grimmauld Place's kitchen fireplace with a grace born of long years of physical training as an auror. A quick look around Grimmauld's dank kitchen he counted the Order members who had already arrived. Dumbledore was not here yet, but his old friend, James Potter was standing in the corner, talking to Sirius's boss, Mad-Eye Moody, and his cousin, Nymphadora Tonks. Sirius's other friend, Remus Lupin, was in deep discussion with Bill Weasley. Behind them, preparing tea, was Professor McGonagall and the detestable Rita Skeeter, a truly obnoxious reporter who Dumbledore used to spy on the Daily Prophet. McGonagall was wearing the same look she always wore when her patience was wearing thin; it was a look Sirius and his three friends had seen often, and awoke a fleeting feeling of nostalgia in Sirius. Alice and Frank Longbottom had yet to arrive, Sirius could see, but everyone else who was expected to be at the meeting tonight was there.

It was the third meeting this week, a sign of the war's (and Dumbledore's) growing desperation. Everyday more people disappeared, muggles were attacked or killed by the hundreds, and Voldemort's forces were seeping into other countries. Only last month, a Wizarding school in France had been brutally attacked, leaving thirty students injured and five dead. After almost twenty years of power, Voldemort had spies and agents in almost every level of Britain's Wizarding society, including the ministry, St. Mungo's Hospital, and the Wizengamot. He had allied with giants, werewolves, dementors, and had an army of inferi at his disposal. Dumbledore, on the other hand had a dwindling force of loyal witches and wizards of varying skill. Some were aurors, trained to fight, but most were not. And many of the confrontations with the Death Eaters left them with less. In Sirius's opinion, it was only a matter of a time before Voldemort's forces discovered where they lived and came after each of them, one by one. It was the fear each and every one of them lived under, the dark cloud of fear which ruled their lives these days.

A roar of flames behind him drew Sirius from his dark thoughts. He turned to watch as Alice, Frank, and Dumbledore stepped out of the emerald fire in succession. The noise drew the other Order members' attention too. With general murmuring and the scraping of chairs, all of them took their places around the table, waiting for Dumbledore to begin.

…………………

Please let me know what you think. I'm still writing a lot of this, and I would like to know what aspect of the story you like, or would like to see more of. You know… tone, dialogue, action, character interaction, long stretches of thought. I'm reasonably open to suggestions!


	4. Ruminations of a Weasley

B"H

Miles To Go

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine.

Chapter 4

Ruminations of a Weasley

Dumbledore stood at the head of the table, all eyes in the room upon him. He met each pair of eyes briefly, feeling warmth and the deep, familiar, anxiety he held for each and every one of them bubble up inside him. Every one of the eleven witches and wizards around the table were risking their lives and the lives of their families and friends to follow him, Dumbledore. Each and every one of them had utmost trust in him and had followed him into battle countless times, though they could all see that the battle was slipping away from them. Dumbledore knew that he held all of their lives in his hands, as their leader, their rallying point. It was a heavy task, to be leader of so many courageous, trusting souls, and to send them into danger and death. And there had been so much death. For many, death- the needless murders of loved ones- had been what had sparked their determination to join the Order, but he knew, that death was slowly bearing down on them, no longer adding to their ranks, but diminishing them. Dumbledore sighed heavily, and began, gravely,

"I'm afraid I must, yet again, be the bearer of bad news tonight. As many of you already know, there was another attack last night, this time on a small village in Surrey. The entire area was decimated before either our Order members, or the ministry's were able to arrive." His ancient voice all but echoed in the silence, and several lowered their heads. Dumbledore saw Minerva place a hand on Remus's arm when he had grimaced. Remus had been among the force that had arrived to find the town of Little Whinging desolate. Voldemort's giants had made quick work of the town, destroying whole buildings with the speed and devastation of a hurricane, leaving the screaming, terrified inhabitants to the werewolves. A town that had only two days ago covered more than twenty miles, with a population well over a thousand, Little Whinging had been destroyed, empty and chillingly silent. "In respect to the many who lost their lives, I would like to observe a moment of silence." The words were almost unnecessary, as the room had already been ringing with quiet. But the Order members lowered their heads in respect, then, waited for the Headmaster to continue.

"There have been many attacks of such cruelty as of late, however, the magnitude suggests to me that this attack was more deliberate than the usual brand of terrorism that Lord Voldemort tends to exhibit," Dumbledore went on, sinking into the chair behind him and steepling his fingers. Several seats down, Remus cleared his throat. Heads turned in his direction

"It may have been a chance to reward the werewolves with a chance to wreak havoc." He said, his voice hoarse. "I know that those closer to his side have been getting restless lately. I expected him to use them in an attack of some sort."

"Certainly sounds possible," Moody put in bitterly, "Have to keep the groveling slaves happy, don't you?"

"That may very well be, Remus," Dumbledore nodded in agreement, "But it would have been only one reason for the attack, I think."

"Doesn't Arabella live in Little Whinging?" Tonks piped up, looking around for the little old lady who was so fiercely loyal to Dumbledore. "Where is she now?"

"The aurors think she might have been the target of that attack," Remus answered quietly, gazing down into his half empty mug of tea. "She…she's gone." Tonks looked stricken.

"Y'mean the whole mad thing might have been to get to her?" The metamorphmagus turned to Dumbledore, horrified. The atmosphere in the room tensed. Everyone could follow that question to it logical conclusion: has Voldemort finally started to hunt us down one by one? Who would be next? Another heavy silence fell upon them all before James spoke up.

"But there might be a different reason," he said, his voice almost desperate. His mind couldn't accept the fact that Voldemort might be moving forces against their homes and families now. Somehow, he knew that would be the last step in their defeat, and he refused to believe the war had come to that.

"And what would that be?" Moody turned to him, his magical eye gazing about the room. Several others down the table, including McGonagall and Skeeter, frowned. James had spoken before thinking, and hastily cast about for an answer.

"It could have been a diversion." He said his tone somewhat defensive.

"A diversion?" Both Moody's eyes were now fixed on him, as were those of the rest of the Order. James glanced fleetingly at Dumbledore, who nodded at him, encouraging him to continue.

"Just about yesterday, we discovered two boys coming out of the forest, both mildly injured. They set off no alarms, even though the gates had all been locked, and neither has any sort of contact information, no family of any sort." Moody frowned deeply.

"Where are they now?" he growled, "I hope you're keeping them as far as possible from anyone else; they could be dangerous." James shifted uncomfortably.

"Not exactly," He answered, then, pressed on as Moody opened his mouth to interrupt again. "My point is what if this attack was to distract us while Voldemort put spies into the castle?" True, the idea was highly unpleasant, but was easier to grasp at this than the thing which they all dreaded: being targeted one by one.

"I had considered that, James," Dumbledore spoke up above the whispers and remarks that had broken out. "But, I found little to suggest to me that Voldemort might have sent them."

"But you are having someone watch them, at least, surely?" Sirius frowned, looking from his old friend to the Headmaster "I mean, if there's even a _hint_ of a question, shouldn't we protect ourselves?" Dumbledore nodded.

"Of course, Sirius," He inclined his head towards Rita, who was sitting across from Sirius, "I have already instructed Ms. Skeeter here to keep an eye on the two." Skeeter smiled unpleasantly.

……

Ron pulled up sharply out of yet another dive, racing through the cold evening air. The storm of the morning had brought the temperature down considerably, but at least it was no longer raining. Ron wove through the goal posts before zooming upwards, preparing for another dive. Flying through the low hanging clouds, icy mist spraying his face, Ron cursed himself for not thinking to bring a jacket. His embarrassment at the awkward conversation had pretty much wiped all thought of it from his mind. He had only grabbed his broom as a pretense, but had decided to go flying anyway. Flight had always cleared his head, allowed him to think.

Ron supposed it ran in the family; when he was young, he and his older brothers had spent countless afternoons in the orchard behind their house, playing quidditch, or simply enjoying the acrobatics of flight. Fred and George had taught him to fly, Ron remembered with a pang. The ache of their deaths was now familiar, muffled by the intervening three years since that terrible afternoon, but it still hit Ron more intensely from time to time. Now, soaring along above the stands, Ron thought back to that day. Ron, Ginny, the twins and their mother had been out at Diagon Alley, spending the summer afternoon shopping for school supplies. Ron remembered that his mother had only agreed to take the whole family out because the Death Eater attacks had been less frequent. Still, she had been nervous, requiring that they all stick together as they moved from shop to shop. Ron had been annoyed by this; he didn't want to be stuck hanging around with his mother, brothers, and younger sister. He had wanted to linger in front of Quality Quidditch Supplies too, where a small crowd had gathered to admire the latest broom, the Firebolt. But Mrs. Weasley had simply shunted them all along to Madame Malkin's to pick up some robes for Ginny, which seemed nothing short of a crime to three boys. Suddenly, screams broke out as Death Eaters apparated up and down the street. The quiet, golden afternoon was shattered as the robed figures began throwing curses in every direction. The shoppers fled, crowding the alley, pushing and shoving.

Ron was knocked over by a large man who was pushing his way through. Ron hunched in the dusty road, trying not to get trampled by the terrified witches and wizards. The screams and blasts of curses and shops being destroyed deafened him as the thirteen year old had crawled through the melee to hide beside a shop wall. From there, he crouched, shaking, searching the panicked crowd for some sign of red hair and a familiar face through the haze of debris, the flashes of curses, and general chaos. Even three years later, Ron could not remember how long he had waited, scanning the destruction for his family, too terrified to move from his sanctuary as he watched the Death Eaters torture, maim, and kill... Eventually, the aurors had arrived and driven off the Death Eaters, but for so many, it was too late.

Nearly thirty people had died that afternoon, including his two older brothers. Fred and George. The two most active, most exuberant people any of them had ever known. The twins had seemed to love life more than all the rest of the family. His brothers had always been able to make everyone around them laugh, no matter what was going on; they could see the all the joy the world had to hold, and were determined to bring it out into the open. Their bodies had been found together… always together… as they had been in life. To Ron, the twins had always seemed to be other halves of each other, incomplete alone. Even now, it gave him a strange comfort that the two had been together in death too. At least they had been spared the pain of losing each other.

The month after that were a blur for the entire family. Mrs. Weasley had withdrawn into her own world of blinding pain for weeks, distraught over losing two of her children, and Mr. Weasley hadn't fared much better. Most days, Ron's dad drowned himself in his work at the ministry, and Mrs. Weasley hid away in her room, often failing to get dressed or even eat. With both his parents in such shock, and as they had been kept at home even after term had begun, Ron had taken to looking after Ginny, who was only twelve at the time. Spending time with his younger sister had initially been a distraction from the two gaping hole in their lives, and came from a deep need to look after someone to keep from feeling as scared and helpless as he had done while watching the Death Eaters kill in Diagon Alley.

The two had spent long afternoons avoiding the house, their parents, and the subject of their older brothers. Most days, they flew in the orchard until they were exhausted, and then hung around the garden until nightfall. They never spent more than a few minutes at a time inside the Burrow, and never spoke the twin's names, trying to pretend that nothing had happened. This went on until early October, while their mother gradually come back to herself, now inflamed with the idea of keeping the family together, and protecting her children at all costs. It had taken some persuading on their father's part to convince her to send Percy, Ginny and Ron back to Hogwarts, but she eventually relented, after extracting a promise from each of them that they would stay out of trouble and write home three times a week. Ron had been grateful to return to school, eager to get away from the gaping silence and despair that had permeated the Burrow, and to get back to a semblance of normal life.

Pulling himself from his thoughts, Ron made one last lap of the field before coming in to land. The sun had dropped below the horizon as he had flown and he needed to get into the castle before nightfall, when the door would be locked. Pushing his damp hair off his face he made his way up back to the open entrance hall doors. In his hurry he didn't notice the small, bespectacled beetle buzz through the air behind him, following him up the grounds.

………………………………………

The common room was still packed when Ron reentered the portrait hole. Spotting his sister and Colin finishing their homework near the window, he navigated his way though the scattered students and dropped down next to Colin. Both sixth years looked up, startled.

"Where've you been?" Colin asked.

"Flying," Ron said shortly. He found his book bag under a nearby table, and pulled his charms homework out. He had just set to work on the first sentence when Ginny interrupted him.

"Have you seen this?" she waved the newspaper headline in his face. Beneath the words "Muggle Town Decimated!" was a photograph of the town in question.

"Yeah, I saw it this morning," he said, taking the paper from her, and skimming the article that ran from the first page to the third. "Biggest attack in ages, apparently."

"Mum's gonna go berserk," Ginny sighed sadly. Ron nodded, turning to the obituaries. "What about you, Colin? Do your parents know?"

Colin shook his head. "Ministry says it's against the statute of secrecy to tell them. Suppose they don't want it all to get out." He grimaced and rubbed his leg, which was still slightly tender from its break. "We're not allowed to say anything, or we could be expelled."

"That's ridiculous," Ginny exclaimed disgustedly, "How're they expecting to keep this hidden?" she said jerking her head towards the prophet's front page. "They just don't want the muggles to know that there's a war on. Idiots." The ministry had a long history of not telling the public when they lost control of a situation.

"I know," Colin said sadly, "Still…I know it's horrible to say…" he bit his bottom lip… "I'm sort of glad they don't know. Well, not _glad_, "he corrected hastily, "But it makes it easier…This'd terrify them…and they can't do anything about it." He looked down at the essay in his lap, ears bright red beneath his blonde hair.

"Maybe," Ginny sighed and reached over to squeeze her friend's hand comfortingly. " But how would they cover up something this big? An entire town?"Ron flipped back to the article, skimming the ending for a few seconds.

"They're pinning it down to a natural disaster," Ron said, "_ Muggles have been informed that the attack was the result of a tornado_….blah, blah, blah." He shook his head, "They're getting less creative." He tossed the paper back to his sister in disgust and picked up his quill once more… "C'mon, I need to finish this before tomorrow."

The other two complied, dropping the subject, and bending low over their respective work. It was easier to focus on mundane work. The world was going to pieces around them. It was becoming evident, even within the protective walls of school life, that the war was not going well. And hadn't been for years, come to think of it. But they were just kids; what could they do?


	5. Figuring It Out

B"H

Disclaimer: Again, if anyone wasn't paying attention before: Harry Potter isn't mine. J.K Rowling plans these things better than I do.

I'm really, _really_ sorry this took so long. My life just kind of got away from me. My friend was in the hospital for a week, and I'm currently involved in a school play that has had us in practice every night until 10 or 11 pm. I know they're only excuses…if it helps, I also had a lot of problems with this chapter, a lot of it owing to my own self-consciousness, and much more to do with the fact that Visuallychallenged22 was out of town and GracefulGoddess was sick. But thank you to everyone who reviewed. Besides being absolutely wonderful, it really helped me improve on this chapter. So, without further ado…

Chapter 5

Figuring It Out

Neville could see the conflict in Harry's face, and with a sense of foreboding, knew this conversation would not be fun. It was the same look that had prompted Neville to follow his friend into the forest only two days ago. Harry face was tense then too, his green eyes wide with a mixture of terror and determination, his jaw set. It was the same look that Neville had seen as Harry faced down the Death Eaters who had cornered them in the Department of Mysteries and as he had chased Snape through the halls of Hogwarts on that terrible night that Dumbledore had been murdered. He waited, burning curiosity building once again in his mind.

With a jerk of his head, Harry indicated that they should leave the bathroom. Neville grabbed his discarded shirt, pulled it over is head, and followed Harry back into the dorm room. Harry sank down onto the edge of Neville's bed, while Neville leaned against the night table, waiting.

"Neville, you remember fifth year, right?" Harry asked hesitantly. Neville frowned, wondering what that had to do with what was going on. Seeing his expression, Harry said, "Just bear with me here. I don't know exactly how to explain this, but I'm trying." Neville nodded.

"So you remember the whole business in the Department of Mysteries, right? Lucius Malfoy was trying to get the Prophecy from us."

Neville watched his friend, vividly remembering the bangs, crashes, and terrors of that night. It had been his first confrontation with Death Eaters, his first experience of the Cruciatus Curse. But the Prophecy… "It broke," He reminded his friend, "I dropped it when you were pulling me up the steps."

"I know," Harry paused, brow furrowed, then plowed on. "But, you see, I heard it anyway."

"How?" Neville asked immediately. It had been far too loud for him to hear the prophecy, with the noise of the dueling echoing around them in that stone room.

"In Dumbledore's office, right afterwards. Dumbledore was the one who the original prophecy was told to…and he showed me the memory of it." Harry paused again. All this was very interesting, Neville would admit, but he still couldn't see what it had to do with the lightening shaped mark now drawn across his chest.

"The prophecy said…it was about the person who would be… destined, I guess, to defeat Voldemort." Harry's eyes had dropped to his lap. "The whole thing was, it gave three requirements for being the 'chosen one'. The person had to be born at the end of July, have parents who had defied Voldemort three times, and had to have been marked by him."

"But that was you, right?" Neville interrupted. "I mean…"He cleared his throat awkwardly."Everyone said…you know… with your scar and everything?" His voice trailed off as he watched Harry unconsciously rub his forehead. His own hand drifted to the newly blemished spot on his chest before his forced it back down.

"Dumbledore…Dumbledore said it could've meant two boys." Harry finally raised his eyes to his friend's face. "It could've been you, Neville." Something was tightening in Neville's throat, making it hard to breathe as Harry went on. "He said the only difference was that Voldemort marked me as his equal when he tried to kill me.

"But…he also hit you with the Killing Curse…you've been marked too." Though Harry was almost whispering, his words seemed to thunder in Neville's head.

"So…so…" Neville coughed around the constricted feeling in his throat. After several tries though, he found he still couldn't speak. He gripped his skull, trying to get his mind beneath it to start working again. All this, it couldn't be real, could it? If what Harry was saying was true… If he, Neville, had been marked…"But…no," Neville's mind switched on again, "There was only supposed to be_ one_: The Chosen _One_! Just one!" his voice rose desperately. "Not two!" Harry watched him sadly. _If the prophecy said one…how could there be two of us_?

"Neville, trust me, I went through the same thing when I heard." Harry sounded understanding, even ashamed. "I didn't want to hear it either."

"Harry," Neville's voice dropped painfully to a whisper, "I can't be the person who's supposed to defeat him," His mind flashed through years of criticisms by his elderly relatives-through countless stumbles- the Rememberall from first year- the forgotten list of passwords in third- dozens of melted cauldrons and botched potions- failing transfiguration, potion, and defense year after year…. "I don't have any talent; I'm not brave. I'm just me… nobody."

"Rubbish," Harry said fiercely, "you're not _nobody._ You're probably one of the bravest people I've met, Neville._" _He held up a hand as Neville opened his mouth to protest. "Look at all you did last year against Snape and the Carrows! Or even when we were fighting in the Department of Mysteries. Or yesterday, when you rallied everyone together to fight." He shook his head, frowning, "Without you, half the school would've…well I dunno…but you've stood up to Death Eaters, Neville. You told me yourself, just last night, that you learned to stand up to those monsters who call themselves Wizards. You've proven yourself plenty of times against people even full grown wizards are scared of. You think that's worthless? Cowardly?

"Remember in first year, when I told you that you were worth twelve of Malfoy? It's still true, it's more true now than it was then, let me tell you." Neville was crimson with embarrassment by now, but was still determined to get his point across.

"I-It's not the same." He insisted, "All that stuff I did, it wasn't…heroic, or anything." _It was just what you would've done, Harry,_ He added silently, too embarrassed to say it out loud. "I- it wasn't brave; I was terrified the whole time- every time." Neville hung his head, unable to see the disbelief in his friend's face. "Harry, I can't fight You-Know-Who."

"That's exactly how I felt, Neville."Harry said, throwing up his hands exasperatedly. "You think I wasn't scared when I faced him?" Harry shook his head. Neville had never really thought about it, truth be told. He shrugged, and Harry went on.

"But it doesn't matter what we _think_, or what we feel: it's what we do. Dumbledore told me once, it's our _choices_ that make us what we are." Neville raised his eyes once more. " He said as long as I choose to fight Voldemort, it won't matter how much talent I have- or don't have. Because Voldemort is scared of _us_. That's why he's so desperate to control everything. He's scared we'll fight back."

Neville stood there, staring into his friend's blazing, green eyes and for a fleeting, wonderful second believed him. He so wanted to believe that it was possible; that two seventeen year old boys could bring down the most terrifying Dark Lord the Wizarding World had ever seen. But how could it be possible? Up until last year, he couldn't even aim a wand properly, how could he help overcome a wizard with the power that You-Know-Who had?

It was all well and good for Harry to talk about being able to fight- he was _Harry_ after all. When he had gone off to save the Philosopher's Stone at the age of eleven, gone off to face You-Know-Who alone, what had Neville been doing? Lying on the common room floor, bound by his friend's body-bind curse. And it had continued like that: if Neville was fighting Death Eaters, Harry was confronting You-Know-Who; if Neville was standing up to the Death Eaters who ran the school Harry was breaking into Gringotts and stealing dragons. Harry's life had been strewn with testaments to his own bravery, his own survival. Harry was the fighter, not Neville.

Neville sighed heavily, sinking onto the bed behind him. "We don't even know whether this whole thing is real," he said, dejectedly, waving a hand miserably around the dorm room. "For all we know, we're having some bizarre simultaneous hallucination." A small voice inside him wished fervently that he was; it would spare him the burden of being the second chosen one, if nothing else.

Harry sat back, obviously thinking hard. "Okay," he said slowly, "Then we need to figure out what's going on." Neville stared at his friend hopelessly, but, after a short pause, nodded. Harry glanced at the ceiling, muttered, "Wish Hermione was here," and turned his gaze back to Neville.

"Okay, let's review. We know we were fighting and you got hit by some spell. There was a great big blast and suddenly no one was fighting, and people we know to be dead are alive again, and on top of that, no one knows who we are."

"And there's no Death Eater's around." Neville added.

"Right," Harry stood up and began to pace back an forth between the beds. "Okay," he said again, "So far- no, never mind that -let's look at it this way: It makes no sense for this to be some elaborate Death Eater hoax, because they could've just killed us. We know it can't be the ministry's fault, because, one: they're on the same side as the Death Eaters, and two: the whole situation is too far fetched what with all the dead people running around." Neville nodded, following Harry's path, feeling a little like a spectator at a tennis match. "So no potions or hallucination spells."

"And it can't be some coincidental nervous breakdown that we're both having, because we would see different things," Neville supplied he watched Harry pause at Ron's bed, examining the red hangings.

"And I'm pretty sure if this was one of Fred and George's new products, it would've at least worn off by now." He turned again. "Also, a powerful _obliviate_ would just mess up our minds, so it can't be that."

"So...no spells, no hallucinations, no joke products, no nervous breakdown." Neville summed up on his fingers, as Harry continued his trek across the dorm. They had reached an impasse. The two of them could go on and on about what this whole bizarre experience was _not_, but that wasn't what they needed to know.

Neville yawned, and gazed out the window by his bed, at the darkening sky. He had spent ages through the years -especially last year- staring out this window, whenever he needed to think. He couldn't count how many hours he had sat on the narrow, stone windowsill, soaking up the grand view. From here, he could see most of the vast grounds, including the shore of the black lake, which looked glassy and still, a perfect reflection of the twilit sky above it. His eyes raked the shoreline, finding something off…it wasn't obvious at first, but…There it was!

"Harry," he said sharply. Harry froze. Neville beckoned him over to the window "Come and look at this." The dark haired boy crossed the room in a single movement.

"What?" he asked, staring through the glass down onto the lawn.

"Do you see it?" His friend shook his head in puzzlement, green eyes darting across the grounds. "Dumbledore's tomb is gone." Harry sat back in alarm, shocked. But then-

"Of course it is," He said slowly, turning to Neville again, "Because Dumbledore's alive. We saw him this morning, Neville." Neville reddened lightly.

"I know," Neville said hastily, "It was just weird. I've- I've been looking at it all year, and now it's not there, you know?" His voice trailed off. Harry was staring at him oddly, but after a few seconds, shook his head, as if to clear it.

"So at least we know no one who is alive is an apparition." He said, his voice indicating that they should get back to business.

"So that means everything _is_ real? All this-" Neville waved a hand distractedly at the window- "It's real?"

"What other explanation is there? We've tried everything else."

"So what is this? Some different place, or some different time?"

"Well, we know it can't be some different time; we don't exist here, apparently." Harry paused, considering, "Some different place…is it possible?"

* * *

The beetle wriggled under the old dorm door, careful not to injure its antennae. At almost two inches long, Rita's animagus form was that of a female stag beetle. Her insect body was fat, hard and exquisitely repulsive- and dead useful to sneaking about. She couldn't count how many exclusive stories she had amassed over the years through this form of eavesdropping, but knew for certain that she had relished every second of it. Through the black, multifaceted eyes, Rita could see the forms of the two boys. Both were staring out the window, giving the beetle the chance to buzz further into the room without being noticed. She landed on the end of the taller one's bed, gripping onto the varnished wood with all six legs. Waving her antennae, Rita was able to pick up the strand of their conversation.

"Dumbledore's tomb is gone." It was the boy with the healing black eye who had spoken. He sounded flabbergasted at the idea. With a jerk of her wings, Rita lurched closer. _Tomb_? She had to hear this.

The second boy turned, forcing Rita to drop out of sight, behind the gathered hangings of the bed. "Of course it is. Because Dumbledore's alive. We saw him this morning, Neville." _Another genius for the walls of Hogwarts_, Rita though sardonically. Of course Dumbledore was alive. Neville- That was the boy with the black eye. The other one…his name had an "r" in it, right? Dumbledore had told her at the meeting, but…maybe it was an "e"? Definitely had an e sound. She shrugged internally, and settled her wide haunches back, antennae waving erratically. The remaining conversation made very little sense until-

"Well, we know it can't be some different time; we don't exist here, apparently." There was a pause as the specky kid scowled in thought. Meanwhile, Rita gathered in the last bits of conversation, comparing it to what she had been paying attention to at the meeting, looking for the meaning behind it. So these boys were from…"Some different place…is it possible?" No it wasn't ruddy possible. Rita buzzed in irritation. What was he suggesting? The Neville boy only shrugged helplessly.

"Guess so…" he said doubtfully. _Honestly_, she thought with a smirk that didn't translate to her face, Were they idiots? Rita rolled her hundred-lens eyes and settled down more comfortably, anticipating the long night ahead. She was able to get no further information from the two, other than the fact that each wished the other a good night as they climbed into their respective beds. But she could wait. She had a journalist's patience when it came to spying.

The real fun came later; Four-Eyes talked in his sleep.

* * *

About this chapter…I really tried to break up the dialogue, but it wouldn't cooperate very nicely. So it is what it is. Hope you like it!


	6. When Tomorrow Comes

B"H

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine.

I know it's short, and I know it's been forever, but I decided to end this chapter early so that I could post it sooner. Think of it as an apology. I know I hate it when authors will disappear for weeks in the middle of a story and then, at long last, when they've finally come back the chapter's only three pages long. But I do like parts of this one a lot. Enjoy!

Chapter 6

When Tomorrow Comes

James tilted his head back against the back of his chair, listening to the hum of the conversation between his two friends with his eyes shut and a glass of Ogden's clasped loosely in his hand. He, Sirius and Remus were sharing a drink in Grimmauld Place's dusty sitting room. The Order meeting had ended several hours earlier, and the fire cast a warm, orange glow across the darkened room. It was a rare treat when the three of them got together, and all were determined to enjoy the evening. That meant, as James had insisted when the trio had sat down, no talk of war, the Order, or anything remotely unpleasant. Unfortunately, he noticed with a frown behind his closed lids, the discussion had slid in that direction anyway.

"It makes no difference," Remus was insisting, "Offering wand use to the goblins in exchange for their loyalty will be about as useful as offering them gold. They obviously don't need it, as they've gone without it for the past three and a half centuries."

"Exactly," James could practically see Sirius thrusting his own drink in Remus's face to emphasize his point. "They've spent years wishing for it! What we'd be doing is giving them the one thing they've always wanted."

"No," James said, finally opening his eyes, "They don't want wand use; they want the goblin treasures that we've supposedly stolen from them. Then they want control of Wizarding Britain, but that's another subject entirely."

"Well, who doesn't nowadays?" Sirius asked dryly, "The point is, we're not offering enough if we want allies." He grabbed the whiskey bottle again and refilled his glass.

"So you think we should hand over control of Wizarding Britain to the goblins, do you?" Remus asked, his tone amused. He looked down into his glass sadly, "Perhaps they'll do a better job running it."

"Okay," James said crisply, "enough of this. We're not going into all that. We're here to enjoy ourselves." Sirius snorted, glancing around the bleak living room.

"We picked a lousy venue for it," he laughed bitterly, glancing around. He had always hated this house, as much for the oppressive memories it held, as for the heavy influence of Dark magic which permeated every room.

"Yes, well, the Hog's Head ran out of dirty glasses and Aberforth refuses to serve drinks in anything else," James said, trying to hold back a smile. Sirius grinned.

"You just don't appreciate how much flavor twenty year's worth of scum can add to old Ogden's, my friend."

"Perhaps not," James conceded, "But I would like to at least know the names of whoever is swimming in my alcohol before I drink it." He shrugged. "Call me fussy." Under the pretense of shaking his head disappointedly at his friend's fastidiousness, Sirius shot a furtive look at Remus, gratified to see that his friend had cheered up, somewhat. James had obviously noticed as well, as he grinned over at Sirius before reaching for the bottle of Firewhiskey to refill his glass. The past several days had been hard on Remus, and the two of them were bent on improving his spirits. Truth be told, they all needed this. Just one evening to relax without thinking of the world going to pieces around them. Sirius leaned back onto the sofa, stretching his arm over the back casually.

"So, forgetting all depressing, war related topics that we won't be discussing," he said with a nod to James," how's things going in the fascinating world of Remus Lupin?" Remus rolled his eyes and took a gulp of whiskey.

"Considering the topics I'm limited to?" Remus thought for a moment, then, "My owl now prefers frogs, instead of mice."

"Okay James, then," Sirius said, closing that line of conversation hastily. "You have a life, right?" James plastered a confused look on his face.

"Life?" he bit his lip in thought. "What does one look like?" The other two laughed, and he said, "Seriously though? I'm wondering about these kids who showed up."

"The spies?" Remus asked, leaning forward to settle his elbows on his knees.

"We don't know that yet," James said, uncomfortable. "I'm not sure why I said that. They didn't seem like spies when I saw them."

"C'mon, James, it's a perfectly logical assumption." Sirius said. When James only shook his head he said, "Okay then, why did you bring them up?" James frowned.

"Well you asked-"

"Not here," Sirius interuppted impatiently. "At the meeting." He waited while his friend, who was staring deep into his glass of whiskey, gathered his thoughts.

"Because there _is_ something strange about them," James said at last. He ran a hand through his short hair. "All healer-patient privacy aside, both those boy have encountered stuff that half the order hasn't. Weird stuff, too." Both his friend's made gestures that indicated that he should go on, but James shook his head, "I don't think I can say any more than that."

"Okay," Remus said, accepting his friend's decision, "But there's more to it, isn't there? I mean, Dumbledore thinks there's something peculiar about them too."

"Yeah. They have absolutely no information whatsoever-no family or guardians, no school records- nothing. What's more, both of them seemed to recognize everyone around them and were shocked when no one recognized _them_."

"Hmm," came Sirius' response. James could see his friend was itching to get up and pace the room. Sirius always had a clearer head for thought when he was moving. "I'll grant you that it's strange, but it's a little far fetched to be a Death Eater scheme. If they wanted to put in spies, wouldn't they have made them as unobtrusive as possible?"

"Not to mention all the Death Eater's children who are already doing a fine job of passing information about the school onto their parents." Remus spoke up, "Why would they need anyone new?"

James shrugged helplessly and emptied his glass, feeling the alcohol sear the back of his throat. "Told you it was peculiar, didn't I?"

* * *

The Gargoyle leapt aside, revealing the passage up to Dumbledore's office. Rita marched up the spiral staircase, completely disregarding the fact that it was already moving of its own accord. Her heart pounded in excitement- wait till the old man heard this! she knocked once on the solid mahogany door, before letting herself in. The headmaster was still awake, despite the late hour. He greeted her pleasantly, looking totally unsurprised at Rita's sudden entrance.

"To what do I owe this extremely late pleasure, my dear?" Rita dropped into the chair in front of the desk.

"They're weirder than you think," she declared without preamble, watching the old man's face for his reaction. Dumbledore simply waited, no visible change of his pleasant expression, his long fingers steepled. Rita went on. "Apparently, these boys know quite a bit about things they shouldn't." She said with relish. "Unless the kid can lie in his sleep, the specky kid…" she snapped her fingers, trying to remember his name.

"Harry," Dumbledore supplied.

"Knew it had an "r"," she muttered triumphantly. "Anyway- overheard him muttering the names of people from the Order: Sirius, Remus, _Snape_." Rita paused again for Dumbledore to show some kind of reaction, but the Headmaster's face remained attentively impassive. She could only assume that the old man was considering the information as only he could- from every angle and in complete secrecy. She plowed on.

"And, what's more…he said something about a horcrux. Not something I'd imagine our favorite dark lord would tell his minions about, eh?" Finally a reaction! Dumbledore frowned. This was obviously earth-shattering, Rita thought with relish.

"Thing is…the two were discussing their situation-speculating, you see. They seemed to think they were from "some different place"," she said, making quote marks in the air as she said the last words. Halfway through her derisive snort, she saw the headmaster's face turn startled for the barest split second. He was kidding right? "You think he's right? Is that even possible?"

* * *

Neville blinked slowly, the early sunlight working its way through his eyelids. He burrowed deeper into his bed, too warm and comfortable to get up. Around him, he could hear the routine sounds of the other boys beginning their day: all yawns, shuffling feet, and croaking voices.

He let himself drift in this state, wanting nothing more than to never have to wake up and accept all that he had found out last night. He wanted to stay under the covers, able to pretend that this was any other day in sixth year, before Dumbledore died, before Harry, Ron and Dean had left, before You-Know-Who had taken over the school: Just another morning, when all he had to worry about were the trick staircases and potions class.

But last night's conversation kept intruding, ringing in his ears. Neville groaned. His life had been turned upside down and shaken violently; couldn't he have five more minutes of ignorant bliss? But reality was inexorably pressing in. the voices around him belonged to people who should know who he was, but didn't. And there was Harry's voice, mumbling good morning to the other boys. Harry- who had been living with this same knowledge for the past two years. If _he_ could deal with this, then Neville supposed he too could face the morning. He groaned again and pulled his eyelids open.

Ron, ginger hair sticking up everywhere, was introducing a yawning, half dressed Seamus Finnegan to Harry. Neville thought Seamus looked too tired to care who the two strangers in his room were, but then, the Irish boy had never been a morning person. The sandy haired boy shook Harry's hand limply and waved two fingers at Neville, who was sitting up. Neville nodded sleepily and pushed back the covers. Dean wasn't anywhere to be found, so Neville assumed he had already gone down to breakfast.

_Might as well get on with the day_, he thought resignedly, as he opened his trunk, looking for his clothes.

* * *

Hermione spat a stray hair out of her mouth and blinked blearily. The dark type of _Numerology and Grammatica_ loomed before her eyes. She had fallen asleep reading again, the seventh year girl noted with exasperation. She unstuck her cheek from the well worn page and brushed her frizzy hair further out of her face, looking down at her watch. Shaking her head at the time, Hermione started stacking the books that she had strewn across her bed onto her pillow.

"Hermione? You up yet?" came Susan's voice through the curtains of her bed.

"Yeah," She replied, her yawn stretching the word. Susan didn't answer, so Hermione carried on with her morning routine, assuming that her fellow Hufflepuff had simply wanted to wake her up.

It was only after feeding Crookshanks, while gathering her books for the day, that Hermione noticed the small black bound diary under her copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. She flipped through its empty pages curiously, wondering how it could have gotten into her stuff. She looked around the dorm. her dormmates were finished dressing, two having already gone down to breakfast. Who would have slipped the book onto Hermione's bedside table?

Ah. It must have been Sally. Sally-Anne Perks, blond and angelic looking, had the unfortunate tendency to steal whatever she could get away with. The habit went largley ignored by the faculty and other Hufflepuffs, given Sally's history, and the fact that she never took anything of real value. The blonde usually remebered to return the contraband afer a few days, unless she could not find the chance to. Otherwise, Sally hid the stolen possesions in her friends' beds. It wasn't the first time Hermione had found someone else's possessions in her stuff, nor, she knew, would it be the last. Hermione rolled her eyes tolerantly and stuffed the diary into the outer pocket of her bag, swinging it over her shoulder. She'd find out who the diary belonged to later and perhaps post a notice in the common room. Right now, she was late for breakfast.

…………………………………………………

Ron yawned widely again. Honestly, History of Magic got more boring with each passing year. His eyes slid around the classroom again, taking in the scene of his equally bored and slumbering classmates from his place in the back of the room. In a nearby desk, Dean Thomas was doodling the beetle that was crawling up the blackboard into his notebook, as Seamus watched, hissing helpful suggestions every now and then. Next to him, Lavender was fiddling with her hair, staring avidly at her coppery highlights. Her friend, and the only other Gryffindor girl in the class, Pavarti was staring out the window, idly scribbling one or two notes every few minutes, pretending to pay attention. On the opposite side of the classroom, the Neville kid was resting his head on his arms, staring glumly at the scratched surface of the desk.

The only person who was writing anything was Harry, who, from what Ron could see, was making a list, which Ron was positive had nothing to do with the History lecture that Binns continued to drone through. For one thing, he was writing too fast to be following the lesson, and really- who, in the entire history of Hogwarts _ever_ took notes for Binns?

Ron turned back to the clock on the wall behind Binns and marked off another minute until the end of class. Only twenty three to go.


	7. No Matter What It Takes

B"H

Disclaimer: Not Mine.

Someone asked me about Hermione's place in Hufflepuff, so I thought I should address it. Personally, I don't think the house lines are that stark; people are extremely complicated beings. So Hermione- and I've put some thought into this- Hermione is extremely smart, yes. She has also shown herself to be loyal- whether to her ideals (S.P.E.W), or her friends. And all throughout the books, she works incredibly hard for her grades. Maybe it's just me, but it'd be very easy for someone who is able to consistently remember things easily, and understands concepts the first time to develop a very lazy personality. On the other hand, I have an amazingly brilliant friend who got bad grades all through elementary school. She pulled all her grades up to straight 'A's by working incredibly hard, reviewing constantly and stressing out over every assignment until she got it right. This seems to me to be so much more impressive and sounds much more like the Hermione I imagine. Hence the Hufflepuff trait. Maybe you disagree, but that's what Fanfictions are for.

I wanted to make this chapter longer, but Harry led me to a closing point that I just can't ruin. Blame him if you want to. I'm just typing here.

Chapter 7

No Matter What It Takes

It was lucky that Healing class and lunch followed History. The arrangement allowed the Gryffindor seventh years to wake up in the intervening period, so that they would be prepared to deal with the venomous, vicious, and belligerent plant life that Professor Sprout kept throwing at them.

Today, the diminutive woman had assigned the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff class the blue-leaved Merlin bush- a bitter, cantankerous shrub if there ever was one. The silver, gnarled branches secreted a highly poisonous sap, which, when treated and distilled, was used as a main ingredient in the potion which treated dragon-pox. Much as it thrilled Ron to contribute to the pox-ridden amongst the Wizarding World, he was rather considering eating the untreated sap at the present moment. Why- w_hy _did Sprout have to partner him with Granger?

All class time long, she had been doing nothing but criticizing his every move, which was supremely unhelpful; the plant was already reluctant to give up its sap, and kept jabbing at Ron's dragon-hide gloved fingers. A quick glance around the leafy greenhouse showed him that every other pair was further along than they were. What's more, Ron really didn't need the distraction of his partner's constant: "Hold it more firmly! No, no, I'm pretty sure you're supposed to hold the shears differently…Not like that!"Finally, the girl snatched the silver shears from Ron, groaning at his obvious incompetence.

"Here," She said, grabbing their bush's silvery branch, "I took notes on this last night. Look in my bag. It's the one with green ink." Rolling his eyes heavenward, Ron dropped down beside the table and began digging through Granger's crowded book bag. He had to pull out three sheaves of homework, two textbooks, and what looked like a small black diary before he finally found her diagram-ridden notes. He dropped them onto the table, careful to keep them out of reach of the grasping branches.

His tyrannical partner ran her finger down the pages, muttering all the way. "Feeding…sunlight…ha! Pruning."

"Congratulations," Ron muttered, annoyed.

"I was right," She said, smugly. "You were cutting it wrong. It says you're supposed to cut them _diagonally_." She grabbed the shears that she had dropped onto the desk, and began clipping in earnest, leaving Ron with nothing to do. He rolled his eyes yet again, and stared around the classroom. Now that he wasn't wrestling with a ferocious bush, he could better observe the struggles of his fellow students. He was perplexed to notice that Neville was staring his way. No… not at him…Following the round-faced boy's gaze, he realized that the newcomer was staring at Granger? What on earth? Why would he be staring at _Hermione Granger_? Ron shrugged. Well, he thought with a slight lift to his eyebrows, to each his own,.

Granger allowed Ron to do absolutely nothing for the rest of the hour. She pruned the leaves, drained the sap into the bottles that Sprout had handed out to them, and even labeled the jars herself. It wasn't that Ron was complaining- but _Merlin_, he was bored. It was a relief when the bell finally rang, sending the entire class into a frenzy of cleaning up and gathering book bags. Granger returned the Merlin Bush back to the front of the classroom, then returned to snatch up her books and homework. Without looking Ron's way once, she marched out of the greenhouse, for all the world as if Ron had been the one criticizing _her_ for the last hour. Ron shook his head in exasperation and bent to grab his own bag.

It was then that he noticed the diary he had pulled out of Granger's bag. It was still lying on the table, where the Hufflepuff girl had forgotten it. Great. Groaning in annoyance he shoved the black- bound book back into his own bag and hurried to join the rest of the class as it made it's way back to the castle for Defense class.

……………………………………………..

Dinner was well underway by the time Ginny arrived, having just been let out of quidditch practice. The Great Hall was crowded and noisy, filled with the most incredible smell of steak-and-kidney pie and the chatter of hundreds of students. Ginny scanned the Gryffindor table, looking for a place to eat. She was pleased to see that a spot near that Harry kid was empty, and quickly made her way over. Time to kill two birds with one stone.

"So," she said, dropping decisively into the seat in front of Harry, "I'm getting tired of trying to come up with your whole story on my own." Harry, froze, a forkful of food halfway to his mouth.

"I'm sorry?" he asked, dropping the fork onto his plate and staring at her oddly.

Ginny began serving herself dinner as she explained with a smile, "Everyone keeps asking me about you and your friend."

"Okay," Harry said slowly, waiting for the red head to elaborate.

"Well," she said with a shrug, "It was getting annoying to keep telling them, 'I don't know', right? So- I hope you don't mind-I've been coming up with my own ideas. Don't worry," she added hastily, "None of them are realistic enough for anyone to really believe them, but its been getting old." Harry said nothing. "So I've decided to ask you about it instead." She took a couple of bites of pie, then said, "Hence, here I am, waiting for you to suddenly burst into fascinating explanation."

"That seems a little unfair," Harry responded after a few moments. "I don't know anything about you either."

"Yes," Ginny allowed, "but how many people have asked you about _me_ today?"

"Still," Harry said, pouring himself a glass of pumpkin juice, "It's uneven."

"Okay," Ginny said, "How about you ask a question, I'll answer, and then I ask you one?" When Harry still looked doubtful, she added, " Come on, you've been here for what? A week? I haven't bothered you at all. I think this interrogation is long overdue."

Harry rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Alright then, I suppose."

"Good. You sound so excited." Ginny said dryly. "Granted, this was not your idea, but…" She made a dismissive gesture. "Alright. Down to business." Ginny folded her hands on the table in front of her. "First, I need to know your full name." She raised a warning finger as Harry opened his mouth to protest. "Don't question the nature of the questions."

"You do know that some would find this very annoying, right?" Harry said.

" I'm told its part of my unique charms." Ginny replied with a careless shrug. " I'm the youngest of seven children; being annoying doesn't frighten me."

"Can't say I've had that privilege." Ginny was still waiting for his answer. "Alright. Harry James Potter. You?"

"Ginevra Molly Weasley. No laughing."

"I didn't."

"I know, but people usually do. My turn again. Er…where did you go to school?"

"I was homeschooled. What position do you play on your team?" He asked, indicating Ginny's quidditch robes, which she had changed back into after her shower.

"Chaser. Did you join Hogwarts because you're Dumbldore's great grandson?" His incredulous look was all the answer she needed, but she pushed on. "Pomfrey's? Flitwick's ? Snape's?" The look on Harry's face was absolutely priceless; a real picture of bewildered disgust. "Well that's about seventy percent of the rumors out of the way." She smiled smugly. "Knew Romilda didn't have a clue."

"My turn again." Harry unconsciously drummed the table. "You have six siblings?"

"Yep: Bill, Charlie, Percy, Ron." Harry frowned in confusion.

"That's four."

Ginny's smile fell, and she dropped her eye to her folded hands. "Yeah. My twin brothers died a few years ago."

"Oh I'm sorry." Harry said, sounding genuinely regretful.

"No it's fine," Ginny said quickly, still not looking at him. "You didn't know. They died in that Death Eater attack on Diagon Alley. Just before my first year. Mum was all torn up about it for along time and she still won't let us go out on our own, really." They sat in awkward silence for several agonizing moments before Ginny shook her head, trying to dispel the memories that always crept up at the mention of Fred and George.

"Okay, my turn," she said, her voice slightly forced. "What about your family?"

Harry seemed to hesitate, then said, "I grew up with my aunt, uncle, and cousin in Surrey, but I haven't been there months."

"Really?"Ginny's eyes widened. "Did you hear?" She asked carefully, remembering suddenly the article that she, Ron, and Colin had read the other day.

"What?"Harry asked sharply, obviously noticing the shade of nervousness in Ginny's tone.

"Surrey was attacked by Death Eaters. You didn't see the Prophet?"

"No," Harry said, feeling a dreadful surge of foreboding. "Was it bad?" Ginny nodded sadly.

"It was huge. They said that the city- Little Winging? Something like that- was completely decimated- no survivors to speak of. And they had werewolves too," she added with a shudder. The pictures in that article…

"Little Whinging?" Harry said numbly. Ginny's eyes widened in understanding, staring at the boy's white face.

"Oh Harry, I'm sorry." She reached across the table to grasp his hand, "I shouldn't have brought it up. I'm sorry." She repeated. Harry shook his head, pulling himself back to the present with what looked like a huge effort.

"It's okay. You didn't know," He said, echoing Ginny's words. "I-It's just a shock…I- I'm pretty sure the Dursleys moved from Little Whinging a long time ago."

"You don't know?" Ginny asked cautiously.

"I haven't heard from them for over a year." Harry said, though he was obviously still stunned by the news. They lapsed into another awkward silence. To Ginny, it looked like Harry was simply grasping at straws, so to speak, refusing to believe that his family was dead. She watched him fidget with his spoon, as she tried to think of something to say. He broke it first however, standing abruptly.

"Listen, I have some work to do for Professor McGonagall." He said, not meeting her eyes. "I need to…"

"Yeah alright," Ginny said, feeling guilt twist at her stomach. "I really am sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Harry said in a would-be-casual voice. "I just need to finish…I need to go." Ginny watched as the dark haired boy all but fled the hall, before pushing aside her plate and standing herself. She brushed past Ron as she left the hall, ignoring his concerned questions.

Harry was halfway to the library before he stopped running. He slid down the wall of the empty corridor, trying to calm himself. It was stupid to be so upset, he told himself angrily. This wasn't even his reality… why should he care so much about the Dursleys of this place? They had never met him- he'd never seen _them_. Still the all-too- familiar sensation of loss was pressing against his chest, despite his mind's insistence that even the Dursleys that he _had_ known had never given a damn about him. They certainly would not have mourned him… and yet….

Ginny's news had only reawakened the loneliness that he had been trying desperately to fight all year long. Here he was, without any way home; without Ron or Hermione; unfamiliar to those he had always trusted most; with the memory of Fred's, Colin's, Lupin's and Tonk's bodies still fresh in his mind… and the death of the Dursleys- even if they had never met him, or ever cared for him- only accentuated his emotions. No, he didn't miss the Dursleys. But all the same, the news hurt.

And what's more- it was obvious to Harry that if Voldemort had the ability to decimate an entire town then the war in this reality was going far worse than even that of his own time. Voldemort may have controlled the Ministry, the Daily Prophet, and Hogwarts, but had never had the power to unleash such absolute destruction. From what he had overheard over the last week, it was becoming obvious to Harry that Voldemort was winning the war, despite all of Dumbledore's efforts to prevent such an occurrence. Students who did speak of current events did so in fearful, or horrified whispers, obviously scared about whom to trust, while others went out of their way to ignore whatever was going on. Neville had told Harry that the agitated atmosphere which permeated Hogwarts today was almost identical to that of his own previous year. It was unmistakable; Dumbledore was losing the war.

The realization propelled Harry to his feet, once again heading towards the library. He couldn't just sit around, doing nothing. No matter what it was- whatever it took- Harry needed to help win this war before he died. He knew with certainty that it was his only option; His instincts would never allow him to do otherwise. He had always been a fighter- his '_Saving People Thing'_, he thought with a sad laugh.

Was it only a week ago that he had witnessed the very memory that confirmed that he was to give up his life for this war? Merely seven days that stood between now and that death sentence? But Dumbledore, his parents, even Sirius, had raised him to believe that there were things worth dying for. And Harry would accept the inevitable. No matter what it took.

Okay, warning: I may not be able to update for a long time- and yes, I realize that this does not change the routine all that much. But seriously, I have a major holiday approaching, which lasts about two weeks- during which I will not be able to write- and needs about two weeks worth of preparation. They call it a vacation- but it really isn't. So, I am going to make an effort to write chapter eight beforehand, but don't hold your breath.


	8. And Therein Lay the Snag

BS"D

Don't own.

Okay, I know it's been a flippin' long time. But here it is! I could go on and on about excuses as to why I haven't been able to get this finished before now, but quite frankly, I've been having a really nice day and I really don't want to think about the past two months. Sufficed it to say, if it had been pleasant, this thing would've been done a lot earlier.

Dedicated to: all the wonderful, wonderful people who read my stuff and are nice enough to like it, my content-editor who didn't read this chapter, and my extra comma editor who did- while I stood over her shoulder and was very annoying. love you guys!

Chapter 8

And Therein Lay the Snag

Rita could not remember the last time she had enjoyed an assignment half as much as she did watching Harry Potter. The puzzle of the two boys' situation and the thrill of being undetected sparked just the sort of curiosity in her that had led her to journalism in the first place. Her beetle body was quickly becoming her favorite form, a thought she chose not to worry about as she adjusted her many legged body further up the Harry kid's book bag strap.

The boy was in the library after hours again. He had been sneaking into the darkened halls of the library every night for a week now, pulling out everything from restricted-section materials to old copies of Daily Prophets. Had Rita been having any less fun, she would have complained about the ungodly hours that the boy was keeping. It was all well and good for him, wasn't it? He simply slept through class. Rita on the other hand…

But the stuff she was picking up! The boy was looking into books of possession, of magical existence, of abstract alternate transifigurational theories, arithmancy, curse breaking. He would scribble down reams of notes, crossing out pages and pages, writing, rewriting… obviously thinking on paper. And all the time the notes led back to a single topic: Horcruxes. Sufficed to say, this was no class project. She had to admire the kid's persistence. He sat researching deep into the wee hours every night, but even Rita could see that he was going in circles. She hoped the boy didn't crack under the strain; she'd be stuck following Longbottom then. Perish the thought.

The boy- Potter, not Longbottom- seemed to have finally succumbed to the sleep he had been visibly fighting off for the past two hours. His head dropped onto his arm as his fingers limply released the quill he had been furiously scratching away with. Rita waited a few minutes to ensure that he stayed asleep, then pushed off from her perch on the bag that had been carelessly deposited under the library table. She flew to a spot several feet out of the way of the desk, and resumed her human shape. She conjured a roll of parchment and pulled an electric-green quill from her sleeve. Licking the quill tip and setting it at the ready, she quickly scanned the books that the boy had pulled out tonight, trusting her faithful quill to copy down the titles as they passed through her thoughts. Bending carefully over the slumbering boy, she extracted the page he had been poring over. The quick-quotes-quill raced across its own roll of parchment as she scanned the page, producing a perfect, if not more legible copy of the oblivious boy's notes. There again was the word Hrcruxes-which she assumed he had spelled wrong in his haste. Below was a random list of words, connected by arrows and lines that probably were supposed to make sense to Potter: H cup----diadem, locket-------sword----basilik(again, spelled incorrectly) and, underlined at the bottom of the page lay the word Hat.

In the margin of the page, set sideways as if the paper had been turned at some point was a shorthanded timeline of sorts, which Rita recognized as that of the very war which currently gripped the British Wizarding world. As a reporter, she'd have to be drunk or concussed not to recognize the dates and events for what they were. The list of names beside the timeline, too, were those of prominent fighters and death eaters. Here and there, some of the personalities were peppered with question marks, or even boxed off. Lucius Malfoy was headed only by the name Bellatrix Lestrange. Severus Snape was question marked, as well as someone named Lily Potter- the only name Rita didn't recognize. But James Potter was there too, closely followed by the famous auror: Sirius, and Remus. Tonks, Mad-Eye, Kingsley. Order members. And the boy used their preferred names, too. Dumbledore would be fascinated.

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The common room had emptied long ago as the Gryffindor students had finished their homework and games of exploding snap and drifted up to bed. The silence was now only broken by the occasional pop of a log in the dying fire. Even the portraits had fallen asleep. Only one student was still awake, trying to keep himself from drifting off in the chair closest to the flickering flames. Neville's head snapped up for the sixth time in two minutes. He rubbed at his aching eyes, wondering if he should just give up and go upstairs to bed. It was well past three in the morning after all. He cast an eye towards the portrait hole once again, though he hardly expected it to open. It honestly looked like Harry wouldn't be returning to the common room any time before dawn.

Still, the lurking concern for his friend prevented Neville from simply packing it in. In the last week Harry had spent more time in the library than even Hermione, whom Neville had been grateful to see was just as diligent and school-driven as ever. Harry though- it wasn't normal. Neville stared down at his wringing hands, wondering at what Harry could be searching for so desperately. A way home? Though it was the only thing he could think of, it puzzled Neville nonetheless. Why, having been given the chance to finally escape the nightmare that was their previous year, would Harry want to immediately return? Why return to a world in which Dumbledore was dead? Where Death Eaters ruled the ministry and were destroying the school? It had been a relief to Neville to slip back into the façade of real life. True there were differences: he was still disturbed that his friends didn't recognize him, and he missed his Gran's stern weekly letters. But if he squinted- chose to overlook these details, it was as if everything he had spent countless nights wishing for had come true. He watched the fire die slowly, even until the last winking ember had faded into blackness. He was just checking his watch in the graying light of early dawn, when the portrait hole let out a creak that seemed to echo after so many hours of quiet. Neville jumped and whirled around. There was no one there. The portrait hole was drifting shut but….

"Harry?" Neville asked uncertainly into the apparently empty room. There was a pause then Harry seemed to step out of thin air, just about dead on his feet, scrunching a silvery invisibility cloak into his pocket.

"Neville, what are you doing up?" Harry asked, his voice hoarse from exhaustion and lack of use. Neville shrugged uncomfortably.

"Potions essay," he lied. Harry raised his eyebrows, clearly unconvinced, but didn't comment. "Anyways, it's the weekend," Neville added almost defensively. Harry merely shrugged, too tired to respond. Neville waited while the silence stretched then turned towards the dormitory stairs. He had reached the third step up when he realized that Harry had not followed him. He turned to see his friend settled into a table by the window, flicking through an ancient restricted-section book. He plodded back down to the common room, frowning.

"You're not going to bed?" Harry raised his eyes from the cramped text.

"I didn't finish downstairs," Harry explained, "Anyways, it's the weekend." He added, echoing Neville's words. Neville shifted on his feet for a few moments. Tired as he was, and, as much as a very large part of him wanted to pretend life was normal, Harry obviously needed help.

"Can I help?" he finally asked. Harry looked up, startled. After a few seconds, he answered.

"Sure."

It took Harry nearly a quarter of an hour to explain to Neville all that he knew of Voldemort's horcruxes. Once he understood, however, Neville wasted no time in diving into the research with the same vigor that had filled him when working in the D.A and during his last year at Hogwarts. Though he should've been surprised to learn that Harry had been researching ways how to defeat this world's Voldemort rather than trying to simply go home, Harry's determined face dispelled all such presumptions. Having known Harry for the last seven years, he could well understand why.

Harry had said that he had found that certain events in their own history were different from this worlds'. Considering this, the two decided that the best way to start would be to find out more about the war and Voldemort's life.

By this time the sun could be seen peeking over the distant mountains in the tower windows, and both boys could barely keep their eyes open. Bone-tired, they decided to call it a morning and dragged themselves upstairs, falling fully dressed into their respective beds. The last thought that crossed Neville's mind before he sank into oblivion was one of satisfaction. He was once again part of something important.

In the week and a half that followed, Neville found himself immersed in hundreds of old Daily Prophets, recent Dark Arts history books and nearly a dozen auror memoirs. He and Harry were plotting a timeline of the past twenty or so years, and both were quickly becoming experts on recent history.

For the most part, the two wars- the first war that had taken place in Neville's world and the war of their current location- were roughly the same. Tom Marvolo Riddle had disappeared after leaving Borgin and Burkes- something they had surmised from a wanted ad for the shop, buried deep in a daily prophet dated two days after the obituary of Hepzibah Smith, heir of Helga Hufflepuff, had appeared in the papers. Nearly two years later Riddle had reappeared bearing a new name, and sparking a surge in Pureblood propaganda and a slew of replacements in the hierarchy of the ministry. In the years that followed new restrictive laws were written, "non- wizard, part-humans" were rounded up and tracked, and the obituary pages got longer and longer. To Neville, it was akin to watching a broom crash in slow motion. The war had started slowly, seeping into Wizarding society like a disease, and suddenly there were reports of outright attacks on muggles, half bloods, and public Wizarding sites – Hogsmeade, 's, and Diagon Alley.

Hogsmeade had been first, and incidentally, this attack was one of the few deviations in this world's history from Neville's own. One memoir, an old Hogwarts student who apparently now worked as an auror had described it in great detail. It had been a quiet, cloudy Saturday afternoon in late May. It had been a school weekend and the streets bustled with students shopping for graduation, out on dates, and trying to forget that exams were closing in upon them.

Then, all at once the laughter, shouting, and chatter were broken by the cracks of apparition. Dozens of Death Eaters had apparated simultaneously onto the scene, all over the tiny village and began firing curses in every direction. It was a tactic that would become common practice in the next decade. In all, fourteen students died, and twenty more were wounded before the fledging Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry's Aurors could arrive. The next year saw a drop in enlistment in the school- parents frightened to send their children away- and a massive rise in the number of applicants to the Auror's Academy.

But a larger Auror force had not stopped the Death Eaters from continuing attacks in public areas, and the Wizarding world from being plunged into fear and paranoia. Voldemort continued to gain power. The Ministry and Dumbledore's army of loyal fighters were losing ground.

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"It makes things much easier, you know," Harry was saying over dinner the next Wednesday, speaking only just loud enough to be heard over the bustle of the Great Hall. "If Voldemort was using horcruxes, then we are better off- we already know how to get rid of them."

Neville frowned over his beef stew. "You said it was some kind of venom, right?"

"Basilisk venom," Harry confirmed. "All we need is to get Gryffindor's sword."

"Yeah?" Neville dipped his spoon into his bowl, stirring his stew idly, and thinking.

"Yeah, apparently goblin-made swords like that soak up whatever might destroy them. And once we find them, all we'd need to do would be to stab the horcruxes with them." Harry spooned up some stew and had it halfway to his mouth before Neville's next question stopped him cold.

" Harry, if you never fought the basilisk here, then how would the sword have been filled with venom?"

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Ron didn't fancy himself the eavesdropping type on normal occasions. Usually, he was very good at leaving others to their own business and not interfering. And had the subject of Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom remained as innocent as fleeting curiosity concerning their unexpected arrival, he was sure that he'dve been able to ignore them and get on with his life and let them do likewise. But no, he thought with some regret, as he furtively leaned in a little closer to hear. The two boys were holding yet another conversation littered with You-Know-Who and something called "horcruxes". He honestly wasn't being vindictive. But anyone who upset his sister, needed to be watched. It had started like that anyway.

He had taken to following Harry around three weeks ago, after watching the boy and Ginny both leave the Great Hall one night in distress. And although a small part of Ron's mind did agree that perhaps he was being irrational, but he had had to find out what happened. He had to find out how the git had hurt Ginny. It had been surprisingly easy to tail Harry; he never noticed when he was being watched. It was almost like he was so used to being stared at that he could ignore it completely. Which was fortunate for Ron; he was terrible at spying on people.

What he had learned while watching Harry was fascinating. Maybe not the act of spying itself- Harry spent hours upon hours in the library and if there was anything more boring than reading the ancient and obscure texts which filled the restricted section, it was _watching_ someone read them. With nothing else to do in the long hours in the oppressively quiet stacks, Ron had begun taking notes on what Harry was doing. He fancied it made the whole business more official. Although he would've preferred not to be using Granger's blank diary- it felt ridiculous to be writing in a _diary_- but such was life: He had no spare notebooks which he could carry around as discreetly and Granger hadn't wanted it back.

But after more than two weeks of spying, Ron was steadily growing more in awe of Harry Potter. He had never imagined that a person his own age could involve himself so deeply in the war efforts. At first he had thought that Harry was just something of a history nut with an obsession for information to rival Granger's. But no, he was actually considering _killing_ You-Know-Who. Personally. The closest Ron had gotten to helping fight the war was not telling his mum that Bill had joined Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix.

Bending down on the pretense of picking up his dropped spoon, Ron pulled out the diary, scribbled in "Basilisk venom-----sword?" and watched appreciatively as the words faded into nothingness on the paper. It was some sort of privacy enchantment he supposed; the words disappeared until he wanted to see them again, bleeding back into visibility just the same as he had written them. Right brilliant idea, really. He shut the book and went back to his stew.

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Sometimes, Harry's ideas really scared Neville. Really. It wasn't that he had a problem plotting the murder of the most dangerous and murderous wizard of the age. That, Neville was fine with. Fighting Death Eaters? No problem. Possibly going deep into the bowels of the school to battle what several textbooks had described as The King of Serpents? Bring it on.

But breaking into Dumbledore's office to steal the sword of Gryffindor? Now therein lay the snag. And yet here he was, out at midnight, crouched with his friend under Harry's invisibility cloak, and edging inexorably down the hall towards the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's study.

"Neville, I know." Harry said placatingly for the seventeenth time, hearing his friend hyperventilating in agitation. "I know it's…" He searched for a word to properly surmise the entire plan, but could not find one. He shook his head, "but it'll be quick. We just grab the thing and run. Dumbledore is out at the Order meeting anyway."

"I know," Neville said, nodding jitteringly. "And it's very important to get the hat," he recited, trying to calm his nerves. "I haven't been this nervous since Snape tried to kill Trevor," he giggled hysterically, before clamping down on his tongue to get himself to stop. "Sorry."

"C'mon Neville." Harry said bracingly, ignoring the outburst as they stopped in front of the grotesque face of the statue. "You've stolen the sword from Dumbledore's office before."

"That was different," Neville mumbled, embarrassed. "That was Snape. This is _Dumbledore_, you know?"

"Yeah," Harry replied. "I know. Sugar quills." Neville started as the gargoyle sprang aside, leaving the entrance open. "Let's go."

Dumbledore's office was dark, lit only by the moonless sky outside the open windows. There were more magical contraptions strewn about the office than Neville remembered, all whirring, twisting or, in several cases, emitting occasional puffs of smoke. The sorting hat however was exactly where it had always rested on the shelf behind the headmaster's desk. Harry ducked out from under the cloak, leaving Neville to pull it off himself, and made a beeline for the hat. He grabbed the hat, sent up a silent prayer of relief and headed back to where Neville was waiting by the door.

Neville smiled tightly in relief as well and the two them wrapped themselves back in the cloak. It was just lucky that Fawkes wasn't here, he supposed. As much as he liked the bird, he doubted it would've taken kindly to the two of them sneaking around Dumbledore's office like this. But they had spoken too soon. With a sudden flash of blinding flame, the phoenix exploded into the room with a screech loud enough to wake half the castle. Neville, blinded and ears ringing, felt a talon scrape the back of his neck as it wrapped around his and Harry's collars. The bird tugged upwards and the office disappeared in a burst of golden flame.

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Lots of Neville in here, but then, he makes me happy. Hope you enjoyed.


	9. The Difficulties of Culture Clash

BS"D

Disclaimer: c'mon, seriously.

Thanks again- don't know how many times I can say it- to all those who are reading this, especially to those who reviewed. Am I the only author who can sit at the computer for hours watching her story traffic rise? My editors think I'm nuts.

Chapter 9

The Difficulties of Culture Clash

Sirius drummed his fingers on the scrubbed wooden table, only half listening to Mad-Eye's report. His fellow auror was reviewing the relatively quiet week to the rest of the order. Instead, he watched the other order members, morbidly wondering who would be missing or dead by the next week. It was by no means a full meeting this evening, but he could speculate. His mood disturbed him, somewhat, though any of the others would have told him that such thoughts were understandable- after giving him unsettled looks, of course.

Normally, Sirius was- well he wasn't happy-go-lucky, but he certainly wasn't this demoralizing all the time. Oh no, he thought with a bitter snort, he saved these moments for when he spent the last 72 straight hours on duty. Something about utter exhaustion messed with his psyche. Mercifully, he was now facing a week off, provided nothing happened. He pulled himself back to reality as he heard his name. "Sorry, what?" He asked.

"I was simply asking if you had anything to add," Dumbledore said mildly. Sirius shook his head.

"No, Mad-Eye's pretty much covered it all, I think." Well he hoped so at least; He hadn't caught much of the report. He sat up straighter as the conversation turned to the subject of once again trying to acquire foreign allies, a topic that had been discussed and debated countless times. He could already tell that it would lead to nothing.

He tipped his chair onto its back legs, watching idly as the conversation deteriorated from possible avenues to a debate about whether they should be expending the manpower to acquire those allies at all. Voices rose, fists pounded the table, a couple of people leapt to their feet in vehemence and Dumbledore tried to keep order. And yet, all Sirius could think of was the fear in every face. They were grasping at straws, and each of them knew it.

A sudden explosion of fire silenced the room. In the exact center of the kitchen table, Dumbledore's phoenix appeared, the white hot flames dissipating in an instant, revealing two bewildered Hogwarts students. Sirius dropped forward onto all four chair legs, shocked. In seconds the entire order was on its feet, with a dozen wands- including Sirius'- trained on the intruders. The boys raised their hands nervously, staring around. No one moved.

"Alright, boys," Moody growled, "now this is the part where you tell us what you are doing here."

"We- we...wha…" the boy nearer to Sirius was stammering, clearly shocked to have landed in the middle of Grimmauld Place's dingy kitchen. A quick glance over at Fawkes revealed a very smug looking bird, perched comfortably on his owner's shoulder. Dumbledore stepped forward, his own wand undrawn.

"Ah, boys," he said, sounding for all the world as if the two had arrived unexpectedly for tea. "Might I ask what brings you two here tonight?" _Your bird did, Albus_, Sirius thought with a smile. Slowly the wands trained on the two boys lowered, though they stayed clenched at the owners' sides. The second boy, who was partially obscured from Sirius' view, cleared his throat.

"We were in your office, Professor," He said, sounding braced for an explosion. He stepped forward, ready to accept the blame, and Sirius felt his jaw drop. Untidy black hair framed a thin, handsome face- the face of Sirius' best friend. He threw a glance at James, shocked at the resemblance. The boy was even built like him-wiry and standing just below six feet. It was surreal- as though someone had taken an old photo of James and brought it to life.

"I see," Dumbledore mused.

"We needed to get the sorting hat, you see. And then Fawkes…" Dumbledore frowned thoughtfully, glancing quickly at Minerva, then back to the boy, who seemed to realize he'd made a mistake. It took a few seconds for Sirius to realize the problem: how exactly would the kid know the name of Dumbledore's pet? His mind then jumped to a conversation that he'd had with James a few weeks back, concerning the arrival of two boys who mysteriously knew things that they should not. These boys seemed to make a habit of unexpected arrivals.

"I'm afraid that stealing is not tolerated at Hogwarts, my boy," Was all he said.

"I know, sir," James' clone answered, sounding embarrassed. Then he squared his shoulders, taking on the same look that James wore when he threw all caution to the winds. "With all respect though sir, why would your bird bring us to a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix?"The second boy jumped in surprise at his question, and his eyes then swung around the room and back to his friend.

"A fair question." Dumbledore allowed. "Would you like to sit, perhaps?" he gestured to two empty chairs near the head of the table. The two boys carefully settled side by side, obviously still very aware of the drawn wands all around them. The rest of the Order also moved back to their chairs, and Fawkes departed in another spurt of flames. In all the movement, Sirius leaned over to James on his right and muttered, nodding his head towards the two "James, he looks just like you."

"What?" James started. "No he doesn't." Sirius gave his friend a look that very clearly questioned his sanity.

"Which one of us has spent more time looking at your face, mate?" The room had quieted now, and he turned back to Dumbledore before James could reply.

"Now," The Headmaster began, having settled into a chair before the nervous boys, "At the risk of sounding arrogant, I have made myself fully aware of your situation.

"I know, for instance, that you boys are-shall we say- travelers from a dimension of a world that is not entirely dissimilar from our own." Dumbledore ignored the shocked exclamations of the room around him in favor of watching for the two boy's reactions. They appeared unsurprised that he knew, merely nodding in relief. Dumbledore waited for the clamor to die down, before continuing. "I also know that you two have been tirelessly investigating the war and the life of Lord Voldemort, in the hopes of killing him." The dark haired boy nodded in confirmation.

Sirius stared at the boys, perturbed. They looked barely seventeen; how could they be thinking of taking such a thing into their own hands? His thoughts seemed to be shared by many of the order members around him, as he heard muttering break out once again around him. Above the hissed questions and shaking heads, Hestia Jones' nasal voice drifted out: "Just who do they think they are?"

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore seemed completely at ease with the bewilderment going on around him- though the headmaster was somewhat prone to a dramatic flair when he allowed himself to be, Sirius supposed. "How rude of me not to let you introduce yourselves. Please." He made an inviting gesture, indicating the room at large.

'James' cleared his throat, glancing at his companion. "I'm Harry Potter. This is Neville Longbottom." Sirius felt an electric charge of shock shoot through his body. _Potter?_ It was far too much of a coincidence; no matter how common the last name might have been Harry's eerie resemblance to James… "You're not related to anyone here, are you?" he found himself blurting out. Harry's jerked in surprise at his question, turning to stare at Sirius blankly. It was only in those few seconds that Sirius began noticing the differences between Harry's appearance and James'. In the place of James' dancing hazel eyes, Harry's were a bright pure green. The boy's face was thinner than James' as well- which, given the disparity in their ages, was to be expected. And, curiously, standing out clear enough to be seen even from this distance was a lightening-bolt shaped scar, drawing a line down the center of his forehead.

"Yeah. I am," He said shortly. He broke eye contact to scan the faces of the rest of the assembled order: Remus, James, Bill Weasely, Kingsley and Sturgis lined Sirius' side of the table, while McGonagall, Dedalus Diggle, Moody, Fabian Prewett, Hestia Jones, and Amelia Bones occupied the other side. Rita Skeeter sat at the end, watching the entire exchange with obvious relish. Meanwhile, James was staring wonderingly at Harry, something that went almost completely ignored by the young man himself. Harry turned back to Dumbledore.

"We were researching whether Voldemort had created horcruxes for himself in this, er, world." For the first time, surprise registered on Dumbledore's face.

"Horcrux_es_?" He asked, emphasizing the plural aspect of the word. Harry nodded.

"In my world he had eight." Dumbledore sat back in his chair, his fingers steepled in thought.

"I would imagine that his soul would have become quite unstable by at least the fifth split." Sirius could not make head or tail of this conversation, but listened, enraptured nonetheless. "Is it possible that some of those Horcruxes were unintentional?" Sirius noticed Harry hesitate for a fraction of a second before answering.

"He meant to make seven, yes. He'd reached his limit by then, I think."

"Yes, I would imagine so." Dumbledore drifted into thought for a few moments, before coming back to the point. "I'm afraid I have no conclusive evidence that Voldemort made any Horcruxes in this world. Although, one must bear in mind that it was not an avenue I have focused on. Perhaps he did create horcruxes for himself- or rather, _of_ himself. It would certainly explain a great deal." Harry seemed disappointed, but nodded.

"That's why we needed to get the sorting hat, sir." The second boy, Neville, spoke for the first time. "I mean, we didn't think it was a horcrux…we needed to get the Gryffindor sword out of it. It's goblin-made, you see. "

"A rare and valuable resource, certainly," Dumbledore acknowledged, "but I fail to see how that could have helped you to destroy any horcruxes you were planning to find."

"We needed it for the basilisk venom," he said earnestly.

"Basilisk?" Minerva asked sharply, "What basilisk?"

"The one that lives in the Chamber of Secrets, Professor."

"The Chamber of Secrets doesn't exist," Bill spoke up. "It's a myth."

"No, it does," Harry disagreed, "The entrance is in a girl's lavatory on the second floor."

"What?" Sirius blurted, in a tone of complete skepticism.

"The bathroom haunted by Moaning Myrtle," Harry explained, knowing even as he said it that this information would do nothing to help his credibility. A couple people stifled snorts. Harry sighed in annoyance.

"Maybe we're going about this the wrong way," he said. "I… I don't really know how to explain it all to you right now."

"What's a Horcrux?" Remus spoke up, offering him a place to begin.

"It's a magical container for pieces of your soul," Harry said. "A person can only split the soul by killing another person- and then if he hides that bit in the horcrux, then he can be kept alive if he's ever attacked. The Voldemort in my world could survive the killing curse- along with pretty much everything else, I guess." Remus frowned thoughtfully.

"And you said he made eight?" Harry nodded. "Now, how did you come to find this out?"

"Professor Dumbledore told me." He answered, glancing at Dumbledore as he said it.

"Why?" Sirius asked bluntly.

"Because he knew he was dying and needed to pass the information onto _somebody_," Harry bit out. Sirius bristled.

"And there was no Order in your world to tell?" Even as he was saying it, Sirius knew his question was wrong- Of course there was an Order in the kid's world; how else would he immediately recognize this place when the phoenix apparated him here?

"There was," Harry said, sounding reluctant to admit it. "But Dumbledore wanted me to take care of the horcruxes myself." This set off several more outraged exclamations.

"A child?" Harry scowled. "That must have been incredibly dangerous," Sirius said, frowning in turn. It unnerved Sirius, the way the boy spoke so calmly and rationally about such a ridiculous idea. Placing a child at the forefront of a war- up against the most powerful and dangerous wizard of the age?

"It was." Harry answered. "But it was also too important to just give up."

"And your parents just let you two traipse off by yourselves on some mission?" Bill interrupted.

"No," Neville interjected. "I was at school at the time. Harry's parents…"

"My parents died when I was a year old." Sirius noticed that, for just an instant, Harry's eyes jumped to James' face before flicking back to the oldest Weasley son. It was a small movement, but enough to confirm Sirius' suspicions concerning who Harry's father was. He shared a glance with Remus, and was gratified to see that the man had picked up on this as well.

"And that makes it okay?" Bill asked, an edge of concern coloring his tone."What about your guardians?" Harry didn't answer.

"Listen," Neville spoke up, in an angry tone that Sirius could tell was unfamiliar to the round-faced boy's personality. "It's already happened. There's no point in getting all upset at Harry for going off on his own _last year_- especially if you don't know the whole story." Harry shot his friend a grateful, surprised look, and Sirius' respect for Neville rose several notches.

"My apologies," Dumbledore said, though he himself had not done anything. "That was unfair of us." Bill coughed and flushed bright Weasley red.

"Sorry, mate." He said, shamefacedly. "It's just weird for me. I mean I've got a brother your age- I can't imagine what my mum would say if he was doing what you are." Harry shrugged, but nodded to show he had accepted the apology.

"The thing is, I've always been…involved in fighting Voldemort. I've been on top of his list of targets since I was a year old. When Voldemort murdered my parents, it was only because they wouldn't get out of the way to let him kill me. Dumbledore- my world's Dumbledore- _expected _me to fight him; everyone did. "

"And that leaves us where?" Sirius asked.

"I'm going to keep fighting him." Harry said, his jaw set stubbornly, eyes blazing. "_This_ Voldemort may not have come after me specifically, but he's still out there ruining lives. This fight is too important to give up."

"And if it kills you?"

"There are things worth dying for," was the answer.

oo0o0o0o0o0oo

Yes, I realize that this is just one big conversation. On the bright side, I managed to slip in some dialogue that I have been waiting months to do. And as always, Neville comes through in his own heroic way.


	10. Further Confrontations

BS"D

Not mine.

Wow, I got this finished quicker than I expected to. I just came out of finals- twelve of them, in case you were wondering-and I graduated on Wednesday. So the fact that I can think at all astounds me.

Chapter 10

Further Confrontations

After a few seconds of open mouthed silence the meeting wound down. The order members packed up, muttering goodnights, and slipped off. McGonagall accompanied the boys back to Hogwarts, flooing through the kitchen fire. She escorted them all the way back to the portrait hole, leaving them with nothing more than a clipped, "Goodnight".

The Common room was empty, but a light was still on in the Seventh Year Boy's dorm. Harry pushed the door open, surprised to see that Ron was still up. The red haired boy was sitting in his four-poster in his pajamas, paging disinterestedly through a magazine. He started when he heard the door open.

"Where have you been?" he asked, his voice betraying his interest. Harry shrugged.

"Detention," he lied, "McGonagall just let us off." He toed off his shoes and fell into bed, utterly spent.

"Blimey," Ron said, checking his watch. "She doesn't usually keep people this late." He looked over at Neville, who shrugged uncomfortably, not meeting his eyes. Ron shrugged as well. He reached under his bed as Harry and Neville settled down to sleep. He tugged the diary out from underneath his mattress. His previous notes bled into visibility as he paged through it to a clean sheet. He grabbed a quill from his bedside table, furtively setting down his latest entry- "weren't studying in common room tonight- came in late too. Said they had detention?"

A new feature seemed to have developed in the spell work of the diary. The pages now answered his questions and offered helpful suggestions. It had disturbed him at first, but now, curiously it didn't bother him in the slightest. In a way, it was like talking to Ginny when they were younger, forever trying to deduce what their parents and older siblings were keeping from them. This time, the diary wrote back in elegant handwriting "Perhaps they were lying? Where else could they have been, if not the library?"

Well, that was certainly something to consider.

-o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o-

Harry slept badly that night. His mind was swirling with fresh images of meeting so many people who he had watched die, his nightmares of the tragedies. He kept waking in a cold sweat, the images of his father collapsing in a blaze of murderous green light, his mother's final pleas, Sirius falling through a tattered veil, Remus lying peacefully beside his wife below a bewitched ceiling which he could no longer see, and Dumbledore blasted into the sky above the astronomy tower all a whirling confusion in his minds eye. Often the dreams blurred together, so that each victim shared in the other's death, faces and fates blending seamlessly into each other.

And each time, no matter how hard he tried, how loud he shouted, or how fast he ran, he failed to save them at the last minute. New faces appeared- Ron's red hair matted and darkened with blood; Fred's laughing face frozen forever, his eyes blank; Hermione's shrieks as she was tortured; Ginny lying at the foot of the statue of Slytherin, her skin cold and pale, a black diary bleeding ink beside her as Riddle laughed.

The last time he woke, it was to a gray-lit dorm room. he rolled out of bed, unwilling to even try going back to sleep, and stumbled off to the bathroom. He revived a bit in the shower, and then trudged back into the dorm to dress. The other boys were still sleeping peacefully by the time he was finished tying his shoes. He checked his watch. It was a quarter to six. So breakfast had already started, then. He grabbed his school bag and set off for the Great Hall.

The four tables were sprinkled here and there with early-risers, some taking the time to study, while others simply concentrated dully on their breakfast of eggs and sausages. He sat down at the Gryffindor table, and was halfway through with his food when he noticed someone standing in front of him. He glanced up, surprised to see Hermione standing in front of him, a book nestled in her crossed arms as she waited for him to notice her. He swallowed.

"Can I help you?" he asked. She shifted uncomfortably.

"I just thought I should introduce myself- it's a bit overdue. I mean," she added, sounding a bit flustered, "It's been some three weeks since you enrolled, and as I am Head-Girl-"

"Nice to meet you," he interrupted, thrusting out a hand to her. "I'm Harry. Potter." She shook it, and then sat down on the bench facing him.

"Hermione Granger." She frowned curiously. "Are you related to Healer Potter, by any chance?"

"I might be," he said, his stomach clenching in panic. "I wouldn't really know though. I never knew much about my family." Still groggy from his troubled night, Harry didn't trust himself to say anything more. His nightmares kept intruding, visions of his friend's dead body draped across the Malfoy's drawing room floor. _Stop that,_ he told himself harshly, keeping his eyes fixed on his eggs, _We escaped, didn't we?- She _didn't _die._ _This_ Hermione was now shifting in her seat, and a glance up at her face told him that she had more to say. He waited for her to speak with some foreboding.

But Hermione said nothing, letting the silence stretch on.

"Was there anything else you wanted?" She certainly looked it. Hermione opened her mouth, hesitated, then closed it again, looking defeated.

"No, I suppose not," she said, much to Harry's relief. "If there's anything you need…"She hefted her book off the table, then stood. "just ask one of the Hufflepuffs."

"I'll do that," Harry said, trying not to seem too pleased that she was going. He watched her head back to the Hufflepuff table, feeling torn; on the one hand, he'dve loved to just sit and talk to her, but his worry at the possibility of her figuring out who he was and where he came from overrode that longing. In a way, he supposed, it was how he had been treating everyone in this strange new world. He wanted nothing more than to forget everything, hand the whole mission to someone else- be able to talk to everyone he had watched die through the years: his father, Remus, Sirius, Ron, _Dumbledore.._. but the words of that memory kept intruding- a knife through his conscious: He was a horcrux. And not just in his home world either. He had been feeling pains in his scar again, occasionally experiencing flashes of Voldemort's emotions, something he made sure to keep hidden from Neville. He couldn't be certain why he was connected with this world's Voldemort. Perhaps the two worlds were not as distinct as he had thought, or perhaps his own connection to Voldemort was just that powerful-and needed an outlet. Harry imagined it was something like a television aerial; the connection had needed to pick something to connect _to _and had chosen the closest frequency, as it were. The Dumbledore in that memory had described the horcrux as parasitic. It would only grow stronger- unless he destroyed it. Knowing he had to die…He couldn't attach himself to any of the people here. It just couldn't happen.

He was startled from his thoughts when Hermione turned back, marching back to his table with a determined air that he usually associated with her efforts toward SPEW. She squared her shoulders, and drew herself up.

"What's your friend's name?" She asked forcefully, not allowing herself to lose heart again.

"What? Oh, Neville." He shook his head, trying to pull himself back to the present. "Neville Longbottom." Hermione nodded. "Why?"

"I keep seeing you two in the library- even when the other Gryffindors aren't there." She said. "I help Madame Pince reshelf books sometimes and your names keep coming up." Harry's heart sank. Which books?

"Oh?" he said, noncommittally, trying to keep the panic down. Even if she did know the book titles, he told himself, she could never figure out what they were using the books for, right? But no. Hermione's face was settling into the familiar determined look he had been exasperated by for so many years. She leaned forward and lowered her voice conspiratorially.

"Does Professor Dumbledore know what you're up to? Does he know you're trying to kill" she mouthed the last words: "You-Know-Who?"

"As a matter of fact, he does." Harry said shortly, angry with himself for being so careless. If Hermione had discovered what he and Neville were doing, who else could have found out when he, Harry, wasn't paying attention?

"Good." She said decidedly, straightening up. "Then the Order can take care of it." Harry frowned.

"What?" he bit out.

"Well, if we're going to win the war, then it's the Order who are going to do it, aren't they?" She said, as though it were obvious. "They're Dumbledore's army. It's not going to be a couple of seventeen year olds."

o-o0o-000-o0o-o

"Ron," Ginny said, slamming her hand down on the now blank page of the diary Ron had been scribbling in, "I need to talk to you."

An inexplicable surge of annoyance welled up in the red-head's mind at the sight of her hand on the diary, but he tried to push it aside. "What, Ginny?" he said, a bit too forcefully, despite his efforts. Ginny withdrew her hand and sat down in front of him at the table, frowning.

"I'm worried about you, Ron." She said. "You've hardly spoken to me in the last week and a half."

"I've been busy," he said defensively.

"I know," she said, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes, "And if it was just that…"She trailed off, trying to think of how to best phrase her thoughts. "It's just…Ron, I…don't like that you're using that diary so much." Ron scowled. An unfamiliar feeling of anger erupted in his mind: What was it any of her business? Since when was she allowed to tell him what to do, or monitor his life? "I wouldn't say anything, but Colin doesn't like it either." So Colin was in on it too? "He…He and I really think that it's…we just have a very bad feeling about it." Ginny looked up at him, searching his face.

"Well, I don't think so," Ron said brusquely. He didn't know where the anger was coming from, but it obliterated all other thought.

"Are you mad at me?" Ginny asked, genuinely shocked, sounding hurt. She and Ron had been extremely close since her first year; they almost never fought.

"I just don't see why you seem to think you can tell me what to do all the time," he hissed.

"I don't-"

"Listen," He interrupted, pointing at her to prove his point, "I'll do what I want. I don't need you to act like Mum all the time." Ginny was shaking her head, but Ron paid no heed. "If you want to go through life only thinking about stupid school gossip, fine. But don't try to stop me when I'm finally doing something important!" Ginny found her voice- and temper- at last.

"Doing something important?" She repeated, her voice rising uncontrollably, angry tears in her eyes. "All you do is stare at that stupid book all day!"

"Know what? I don't need this." Ron snatched up the diary and his quill. "Maybe you'd understand if you didn't act so stupid all the time." He said scathingly and stormed out the portrait hole down to breakfast, missing the hurt, confused and angry look that followed him out.

"I'm just trying to help you, you bastard." Ginny hissed, wiping her eyes angrily on her sleeve as the Fat Lady slammed shut.

o-o0o-000-o0o-o

James ran his fingers through his hair, as if trying to rake through the confused thoughts within his mind. He was sitting behind a pile of work that needed to be done, too distracted to do anything more than stare into his empty mug of tea. The previous night's meeting kept circling through his head, the same words over and over. "_James, he looks just like you…" _How could he have missed that? How could Dumbledore, Poppy, McGonagall missed the eerie resemblance between himself and the Potter boy? Could it be that they simply weren't looking for it?

And his son's- _his son's_-involvement in the battlefields of his own world:_ Dumbledore wanted me to take care of the horcruxes myself…_ What on earth would prompt Dumbledore to lay such and impossible task-"_The Voldemort in my world could survive the killing curse"- _on the shoulders of a child? A seventeen-year-old boy with no auror training? No defense? How could his own counterpart self have allowed such a thing? _I'm going to keep fighting him… There are things worth dying for. _He raked his fingers through his hair again, too wrapped up in his thoughts to hear the roar of the flames as someone stepped through the floo.

"Stop that," Sirius said, startling him. "Do you want to be bald, as well as gray?"

"Sirius," James said, distracted. He shook his head, trying to clear it. "What are you doing here?" Sirius pulled out the chair beside James', dropping into it and propping his feet up on the desk.

"My best mate just found out he was a father last night." He said carelessly. "I came to offer my congratulations." His searching gaze belied his casual tone.

"I'm fine, Sirius," James said firmly.

"And that's why you're pulling out your hair?" Sirius retorted, his concern now coloring his tone.

"It's a lot to take in," James admitted. "But you didn't have to come all the way down here. Aren't you missing work?"

"It's my week off- and I didn't come _'all the way down here'_. I apparated to Ab's pub, then came through the floo. Wizard, remember?" He said, pointing at himself. His voice was back to the light tone he always used when dealing with stressful situations.

James closed his eyes, and ran his hand through his hair again, "I just don't know what to do. Suddenly I have a son- one who comes from another…world, supposedly. And on top of that, he's trying to get himself killed."

"Hmm," Sirius agreed.

"Why would the other me just let him go off on his own?" Sirius frowned.

"Didn't you hear him? He said his parents had been killed when he was young."

"He did?" Sirius nodded, watching James concernedly. "Oh." That stopped James in his tracks for a few seconds. Then his mind switched back on. "Why would Dumbledore let him go off on his own? Or any of the Order? Okay, we know that I had…died, but what about Mad-Eye? Frank? You and Remus?"

"Hold it, mate." Sirius held up a hand. "We need to keep in mind that these are completely different people we're talking about here. It wasn't me and Remus, or Frank, or Alastor. It wasn't us. It was people who look a whole lot like us and share our names."

"I wasn't suggesting-"

"I know, but it helps to think of them as completely different people. We aren't responsible for their mistakes." He said, "So you don't have to feel guilty over endangering his life."

"I wasn't feeling-"James began defensively.

"Just saying." Sirius said, raising both hands in a pacifying gesture, his voice back to weather-discussing quality. "Personally, I think that Neville kid was right. There's no point in berating the boy for something that happened last year."

"Yeah, but what about their plans to battle Voldemort by themselves?" James said immediately.

"That's where Dumbledore comes in," Sirius shrugged. "Now come on." He said, standing up. "It's Saturday. There's no point in worrying about it all now. Dumbledore said he's going to bring the boys back to the meeting on Sunday. Let's go down and see if Aberforth wants to give us lunch. I'll even ask him to wash the cups for us, if you want." He added generously.

"I suppose you're right." James sighed.

"Of course I am." Sirius said, pretending to be haughty. "Now let's go get sloshed."

o-o0o-000-o0o-o


	11. Terror In Hogsmeade

BS"D

Not mine.

Not that she bears any similarity to the events of this part, but this chapter is dedicated to my new baby niece. And, as always, a great big thanks to all those who are still bothering to put up with my tremendous delays. In apology, and because it just plain wouldn't end, this chapter is a bit longer than usual. Thanks so much!

Chapter 11

Terror in Hogsmeade

The Great Hall was slowly beginning to fill as Harry finished his eggs. Having said her piece, Hermione had stalked off back to her table and her book. Harry had watched her go, annoyance undulating up his spine. How she could be so wrapped up in her own ideas without a clue as to what he was really going through and still have the nerve to tell him off…and yet the irritation was muffled by sadness; he missed his friend- the girl who had stayed with him through all those months searching for horcruxes, who always knew what to do, or how to explain something.

But she wasn't here. No one was- not Ron, not Mrs. Weasley or Ginny or-

Suddenly, the Great Hall seemed stifling, constricting. He had to get out. He stood up from the table and made blindly for the entrance hall, neither knowing nor caring where he was going. He broke out into the brisk October air, his pace picking up speed until he was running flat out, not feeling the cold. All he knew was that he needed to be somewhere- anywhere- but here. His pounding feet took him halfway across the grounds before he stopped.

He stood there gasping, surveying the area around him. He had ended up near the lake, on the spot where Dumbledore's tomb should have been. The overcast sky and wind coming off the freezing water finally registered in his mind and he shivered. With a sigh, he turned back to the castle, not wanting to return, but knowing that he must. Already he was feeling embarrassed over his reaction, unsure as to what had brought it on. _You're probably just tired_, he thought to himself scathingly, _that's no reason to act like a git. _He shoved his hands into his jean pockets, and began to make his way back. He was just passing the Whomping Willow at a distance when the sound of voices made him look up. Just exiting the castle doors were his father and godfa-_James and Sirius_. He froze, wondering if they would see him as they passed; unsure whether he wanted that to happen or not. But they continued walking, oblivious to his presence. The two were headed towards the gates that led to the Hogsmeade entrance.

Harry released the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. A small part of his mind laughed at his reaction. In only the last year, he'd faced Death Eaters, Acromantulas, Snatchers, serpents, and Voldemort himself, but he was terrified of Sirius? _James?_ A surge of recklessness welled up in him, prompting him forward. With little idea as to what he was doing, careful to remain unseen, he crept behind the shrinking pair, following them into the small village.

Oo-o-000-o-oO

It was a relatively quiet morning for the Three Broomsticks. Admittedly, mornings were less crowded than evenings and nights anyways, but the usually cold weather too seemed to be keeping people in their homes, trying to stay warm. A few faithful customers sat scattered about the bar, talking at a low buzz and sipping large mugs of hot chocolate. Rosmerta wiped down the bar with a damp rag, looking forward to having bit of a break before the school kids showed up later this afternoon. She was enjoying the quiet for now, knowing that in less than a few hours the place would be packed and filled with the shouting clamor that only fifty or so teenagers could achieve. She wasn't complaining though. It was a blessing to be kept so busy when businesses were suffering all over.

The wind blew an icy blast of air as the door opened. Rosmerta looked up and smiled. Standing in the doorway, their faces red from the frigid winds outside, wrapped in winter cloaks were two of her favorite customers.

"James, Sirius," she said warmly, striding forward to meet them. "It's been a while."

"Far too long, Rosmerta," Sirius said with a grin. "I don't know about James here," he said, gesturing to his friend, who was blowing into his cupped hands to warm them. "But I've been thinking of having some of your special hot chocolate all day long. Best in the world, I tell you."

"I'll just get those for you, then," she said with a wide smile, "Have a seat."

"You're a saint, my dear," he said. Shaking her head, and with an exasperated smile, Rosmerta headed back to the bar.

Sirius chose a secluded corner of the bar, near the window. He waited until Rosmerta had dropped the steaming mugs onto the table before them, smiled up at the patroness as she walked away, and then spoke. "You might want to drink up," he suggested, "You look cold." James nodded, but didn't drink.

"Come on, James," Sirius said, taking a careful sip of the chocolate. "There's no point in worrying about the kid now."

"I'm not…" James said, sounding distracted, staring into his cup. "I was wondering who his mother is." He frowned. " Was… Is?"

"Oh," Sirius said, leaning forward. That was something to consider. As long as he had known James, his friend had only ever had one serious infatuation, one that lasted from their second year at Hogwarts, until their seventh. James was the determinedly loyal sort-whether the object of his affection liked it or not- had been the old joke. Sirius could clearly remember the five years James had chased after Lily Evans, being turned down most of the time. His three friends had laughed at his antics, sympathized with his continued rejection, and assured him repeatedly that one day, Evans would come around. And she had, finally in their sixth year. The two dated for just shy of a year, both wrapped in each other. It had seemed inevitable, to Sirius at least, that they would be married by the end of seventh year. But the war had had other plans, hadn't it?

Sirius couldn't remember the last time they had spoken of the beautiful red-head. She had almost slipped his mind in the twenty or so years of fighting since their school days. James could obviously never bear to speak of her. Certainly Sirius could remember the day she had been killed. Everyone who had been in the Hogsmeade attack had it imprinted on their memories, a cold and sharp beginning to the terror that now engulfed their lives. It had been marked as the beginning of the war, both in Sirius' own mind and the official history of the war.

Even in the confusion and panic, Lily had kept her head, and stood her ground against no less than three Death Eaters, holding off the attackers while the younger students she had been protecting ran for safety. She had used a number of very powerful and creative hexes on the wizards attacking the children around them, but had eventually been overwhelmed. She had died bravely and caring for others as she fell. Sirius could still remember the look on James' face when he had heard the news. And it was a look that Sirius never wanted to see again.

"I mean…"James cleared his throat, uncomfortably. He took a large gulp of hot chocolate and continued. "It doesn't matter. It was just a thought." Sirius watched his friend sadly, but could think of nothing to say.

"Yeah," he said, his voice subdued. For a moment, bitterness at all the war had cost them welled up inside him. "We need to stop having all these serious conversations." He said ironically. James laughed hollowly.

With a huge effort, they switched topics after that, dancing around any serious or sobering subjects, determined to relax. It was how they survived the harsh times.

Meanwhile, huddled from the cold in Honeydukes, Harry was trying to figure out how to get into the Three Broomsticks without attracting attention. He paced between the shelves of chocolates and candy, pretending to be shopping. The heady smell of sugar filled every corner of the small shop, calming him somewhat. He smiled as his mind drifted back to his first trip to Hogsmeade, in this very store. Thinking back to that day, his mind suddenly jumped to the conversation he had had this morning with Hermione. He frowned, knowing that he had handled the entire thing badly. If nothing else, he needed to tell Neville what Hermione had said and how she had figured out what they were doing. If she hadn't gotten to him yet, that was. He checked his watch, and was surprised to find that it was already half past nine. Good. The other students would be arriving in Hogsmeade soon. Hogsmeade weekends usually started pretty early, as students wanted to spend as much time as possible out of school. Knowing that most people would head straight to the Three Broomsticks on a day like this, Harry nodded goodbye to the saleslady behind the counter and, bracing himself, ducked back out into the cold.

Oo-o-000-o-oO

Less than an hour later, the high street of Hogsmeade was bustling with students. Wrapped in sweaters and cloaks, they bustled to and from the now packed shops, filling the cold air with shouting and laughter. From the window by his table, James watched the Ginny Weasley and Colin Creevey go by, followed by a group of third year Hufflepuffs who were obviously on their first trip go by, pointing out the shops to each other excitedly. He smiled, turning to Sirius.

"Remember when we were that age?" He asked with a grin, jerking his head towards the group who had now moved up the street, heading towards Honeydukes.

"Yeah," Sirius replied. "But if I remember correctly, we were in second year on our first trip to Hogsmeade, not third."

" '_What's life without a little rule-breaking_', eh?" James said with a grin. It was the exact argument Sirius had used to convince them all to sneak out of the castle in the first place.

"It didn't take that much effort to convince you lot, either." Sirius said nostalgically. He leaned back in his chair, listening to the chatter of students around them. The door opened, letting in a gust of cold air, before it was quickly shut again. James turned to see who had entered the now packed pub. He received a start of surprise when he saw that it was that Neville kid. The boy had slipped into the bar, craning his neck over the crowd, as if he was looking for someone. All at once, his face brightened, and he started weaving his way through the tables toward a corner near the bar. Curious, James looked around for who Neville was heading for, and with another jolt, saw that Harry was sitting at the furthermost table. How had he not noticed him come in? James kept staring at the boy, until Neville, reaching the table sat down in James' line of vision.

"Wonder how long he's been sitting there," Sirius said, frowning at the back table in thought.

"Harry?" James asked, his tone once again serious. "Yeah I didn't notice either." Sirius shrugged, both of them watching as Harry and Neville stood, paid for Harry's drink and exited the pub. With some difficulty, James turned back to the table.

"Well," Sirius said, checking his watch, almost twenty minutes later, "I guess it-" his words were cut off by an explosion that rocked the entire street. "What the-?" he said, leaping to his feet, only to be nearly knocked over by another blast. He whipped around to face the window, taking in the scene at a glance. Fire had erupted in the street as a third blast took out the building across the street, over which flew twenty or so hooded figures, raining curses down on the panicked people in the streets. _Not now_.

James was already pushing his way through the panicked crowd to the door, his wand out. Students had begun shoving tables, chairs and each other out of the way, trying to get to the door.

"Get back!" Sirius roared, trying to be heard above the noise. The pub shook again. "It's not safe in the street." He grabbed the shoulder of a fourth year girl, who had been standing within reach. "Get to a fire," He said, staring fiercely down at her. "Call the aurors." She nodded, gray eyes wide and terrified. He let her go, swearing as he tried to shove through the crowd. Up ahead, James was herding the students away from the door, shouting, "No, get to the cellar!" Sirius shoved back against the crowd, most of whom were too panicked to listen. Deciding that this wasn't working, Sirius shoved two fingers in his mouth and let out a shrieking whistle. Silence fell.

"Okay," he said, shouting into the silence. "It's not safe out there. I want everyone to get downstairs into the cellar immediately. There's a tunnel leading to the castle down there. Are there any Prefects in here?" Three hands went up. "Good, you need to get everyone downstairs- Rosmerta will show you where the entrance to the tunnel is. Go." He finally reached James as the prefects began calling for everyone to line up and the students flooded towards the back of the bar. Without another word, both of them leapt out into the street, wands at the ready.

Oo-o-000-o-oO

"Look out," Harry yelled, tugging Neville out of the path of a falling bookshelf. The window of the book store that they stopped into shattered as Harry crouched behind the ruins of one of the bookshelves, pulling Neville down with him. Through the broken window display, he could see nearly twenty Death Eaters, all running or flying through the streets. They seemed to have nothing more in mind than destruction and terror. Even as he watched, he caught sight of a low-flying broom coming straight for them. Aiming directly at the masked face, he yelled, "Stupefy." Harry felt a surge of triumph as he watched the Death Eater tumble from his broom.

But there were two more Death Eaters closing in on them, mere feet from the where they hid obscured by the fallen bookshelves and scattered tomes. Next to him, Neville was poking his head above their hideout, shooting a barrage of stunning spells at the Death Eaters behind them. Satisfied that the Death Eater who had been flying at them wasn't going to be getting up anytime soon, Harry turned his wand on the taller Death Eater, shouting, "_Stupefy!_ _Impedimenta!_" The two Death Eaters, in turn, were throwing blasting curses their way. When a cutting hex passed so close to Neville that it tore his cloak, Harry decided they needed to move.

"Neville!" He grabbed Neville's arm, "We need to get back to Honeydukes. They have a way back to Hogwarts in the cellar." Neville nodded, and they both took off, running at a crouch. They ducked between the ruined bookshelves and smoldering fires that had only erupted here and there, dodging curses as they went. They needed to get to the front of the store, where the exit was, but the way was still blocked by the Death Eaters, who were growing increasingly frustrated by Harry's and Neville's continued survival. Harry leapt behind the sales counter, still looking for an opening. He knew there was a room behind the counter but it would have been tremendously stupid to turn his back on the battle; the counter was more exposed than the shelves had been. He threw up a shield charm that he knew wouldn't last, then called, "Neville!"

Neville, who had been down behind a nearby fallen shelf, glanced over. "C'mere!" Neville spared a glance at their attackers, then sprinted out from his sanctuary, heading straight for the counter.

"Argh!" he cried as a stray spell nearly tripped him. With a final burst of speed he jumped over the counter, skidding across the surface and tumbling to the ground, safe behind the register.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, his voice fearful.

"I…think so." He swallowed and straightened up, gripping his wand tightly. The shield fell at that moment, and Harry was forced to duck down next to Neville, flashes of color whirling over their heads.

"We need a way out." Harry said. Neville nodded, swallowing hard. "There has to be a back door, back there." Harry continued, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

"Let's go then," Neville said, getting to his feet, making sure to stay low.

"You go first," Harry said, "I'll cover you." He leapt up. "Protego!" he shouted The shield expanded across the countertop, allowing them a few seconds to stand at full height as Neville ran past him. Neville made it through the door, barely registering the musty workroom, his eyes flitting around for any sign of a door. There! He hurried forward, and shoved the door open, the cold air blasting in.

"Harry!"He called, relief washing through him. "Back here!" There was a cry of _"Impediment_a!", a bang, followed by two thumps from the room, and Harry pelted out into the workroom.

"They're not going to be out for long," He said, glancing nervously over his shoulder. They pushed out into daylight and took off down the road.

Oo-o-000-o-oO

James twisted his upper body back and kicked Dolohov back, catching him in the chest. Dolohov gasped as all the air left his body. Taking advantage, James struck the Death Eater in the face with a stunning charm, turning to his next opponent before Dolohov even had time to collapse. This was a Death Eater that James didn't recognize; younger too- his mask had probably been lost in all the confusion of the initial explosions, and his eyes betrayed how anxious he was, though he was doing his best to appear stoic. This was probably his first raid, straight out of initiation. His wand movements were jerky at best, and James quickly dispatched him with a well placed, body-bind. He pushed his hair out of his eyes looking around.

Just a few feet away, Sirius was battling his own Death Eater, their wands flashing back and forth.

"Padfoot!" James called out. It was their signal- using their old nicknames from school. Sirius nodded to show he had heard. He sent a barrage of spells at his opponent, forcing the Death Eater around, until he, Sirius stood between the Death Eater and James. Then, without warning, the animagus ducked down, and James caught the bewildered Death Eater in the face with a stunning spell.

"Thanks," Sirius called, running to meet his next opponent. James' attention was brought abruptly around as a burning spell grazed his arm. He whirled around, bringing his wand up. The Death Eater was still masked, and he moved with much more ease than the newbie who still lay paralyzed a few feet away. "Crucio," he bellowed, but James was too quick with his own shout of "Protego!" and followed it up with a clever transfiguration charm. His enemy deflected the spell however, sending the charm careening off the wall of a nearby building before it struck the Death Eater Sirius had been fighting. Sirius barely blinked as his opponent was abruptly transformed into a shrew, merely moving on to the next hooded figure. James meanwhile was engaged in a volley of spells; twisting, dodging, and shouting as he forced his opponent back towards the wall of a nearby shop. _Where in Merlin's name were the other Order members?_ James thought as he struck the Death Eater in the face with a conjunctivitis charm. The Death Eater howled in pain, clutching his eyes and James was able to stun him as well.

"Nice one, James!" came a voice from behind him. James turned, recognizing the voice of Frank Longbottom. He looked around the small square in which he and Sirius had been fighting. The five bodies of the stunned and paralyzed Death Eaters lay scattered here and there. The action seemed to have moved further up the street. From perhaps two blocks over, James could still hear the bangs and cries of the fighting. He turned to Frank.

"Are you here with the Order or the Aurors?" he asked, panting slightly.

"Aurors. About thirty or so. But a couple of us have come too- Remus, Bill, Mad-Eye... I didn't see anyone else." Frank said glancing towards the fighting too. Sirius spoke up from where he was binding the fallen Death Eaters' hands and feet. "Did all the students get out?"

"Most," Frank answered. "Just lucky we had all those tunnels built." After the first, terrible attack on Hogsmeade, a series of secret tunnels leading back to the Castle had been dug into the basements of most of the shops, except for Honeydukes, which, it had transpired already had a tunnel in its cellar. "C'mon," he said, jerking his head towards the melee, "Let's take care of these and get back in there." The three men made short work of levitating their stunned enemies into the entranceway of a nearby building, locking the door and ran up the street.

Oo-o-000-o-oO

Neville ducked as a flying Death Eater swooped low, nearly taking off his head. The Gryffindor boy quickly recovered, aiming at the Death Eater as the broom turned back around towards him and shouting "Stupefy!" To his great surprise, the curse hit home, knocking the hooded figure from his broom and sending him sprawling in the road. Neville smiled, feeling triumphant and turned back to face another oncoming Death Eater. This one did not fall as easily as the first had, but Neville's hex did knock the broom off balance. He spun wildly, barely missing a stone wall. unfortunately for him, the broom's erratic course took him right into the path of one of the Aurors fighting nearby.

"Neville, look out!" Harry shouted, caught up fighting his own opponent. Neville dropped to the pavement, feeling whatever curse he had just missed pass so close to him that it ruffled his hair. He twisted, still on the ground and aimed up at the Death Eater who was bearing down on him. "Impedimenta!" The Death Eater was blown off his feet and Neville scrambled up, in time to watch Harry stun the Death Eater, who had been getting to his feet as well. Neville grinned sheepishly at his friend, and the two of them threw themselves back into the battle.

Even as he dodged out of the way of curses and counter-curses, Neville was able to watch Harry dueling in his peripheral vision. The dark-haired boy fought furiously against the Death Eaters. What Harry lacked in formal training and strategy, he seemed to make up in fury. He threw stunners and hexes without discretion, trying to hurt as many Death Eaters as possible whilst helping as many aurors as he could.

Thankfully, the battle seemed to be turning in their favor. Most of the flying Death Eaters had either landed or fallen from their brooms and most of the fighting took place on the ground. With the arrival of the Aurors, a number of the newer Death Eaters had simply disapparated. While those that did stay behind were obviously higher ranking and more experienced, this still left the ministry to fight a force of twenty rather than the fifty or so who had been part of the first wave.

All at once, a nearby explosion rent the air, sending chunks of the storefront of Dervish and Banges high into the air, forcing everyone in the vicinity down. Neville threw himself to the ground again, his hands over his head to protect it from falling rock and brick. For a few moments, the entire street was blanketed with white powder, obscuring his vision. He blinked and coughed, trying to get his bearings as he stumbled to his feet. _Thank Merlin, I kept a hold of my wand_, he thought as a Stunning Spell came at him. He ducked the jet of red light, not trusting himself to erect a proper shield and fired his own spell into the dissipating cloud. The Death Eater who had been attacking him collapsed with a thump.

All at once, one of the Death Eaters sent up a shower of green sparks, arcing high over the ruined village. With a sound similar to the crackle of fireworks, the remaining dozen Death Eaters disapparated in quick succession. After more than an hour of terrorizing Hogsmeade, they were finished. All was silent.

Neville coughed again, squinting through the mess of the road, looking around for Harry. He had been next to Neville for most of the fight but…Neville turned his head, this way and that…Where was he? Ignoring the Aurors who were milling about, collecting the stunned Death Eaters' bodies, he craned his neck over the various groups of people, searching the street…Wait! There he was! Running through the white fog with….no that was Mr. Potter- _When had he arrived_? Neville shook off the question, now starting to feel really anxious. "Harry?" He shouted into the crowd, looking around wildly. An inexplicable feeling of dread twisted his stomach. _Where had he gone_? "HARRY?"

"Neville, what are you doing here?" James had neared him, frowning. "You were supposed to get back to the castle with the other-"

"I can't find Harry!" Neville cut across him, still looking around, trying to convince himself that he was overreacting, and knowing at the same time that he wasn't.

"What?"

Neville racked his brains, trying to recall what had happened in all the confusion."Last I saw him was before the explosion,"

James' face whitened. "You two were fighting?" he asked, but Neville didn't hear him. His eyes had fallen on the pile of rubble that had, only minutes ago been Dervish and Banges. _No_. He ran forward, the dread that had filled him turning to all-out terror. There, just visible beneath a fallen beam, buried under the stone, was a prone figure. _Harry_.

Ignoring James' horrified, "Oh my G-d", Neville fell upon the debris of the building, furiously trying to shift the stone out of the way barehanded. He and James shoved against the largest stone. Straining with all their might, they managed to push it off, sending up another puff of cloud. With a surge of relief, Neville heard Harry cough weakly beneath the rubble. "Harry?" Harry coughed again, obviously trying to talk.

"Try not to move too much," James said, his voice heavy with concern, "Until we can see how badly you're injured. Just relax."

"We're going to get you out," Neville said assuringly, trying to shift the next rock. Harry's voice came back stubbornly, though.

"Try…try using…a…wand," he forced the words out hoarsely. Neville blinked at James, wondering what that meant. The older man was quicker on the uptake.

"OH!" he said with a cry of comprehension. He pulled out his wand and pointed at the topmost beam. "Wingardium Leviosa."

Oo-o-000-o-oO

I'm still learning how to organize a fight scene. If this was confusing, or if you have any constructive criticism to offer, I'd be happy to hear from you.


	12. Incomplete Explanations

BS"D

Not Mine.

Hi. I'd first like to say: . There, I feel better. And I'd like to thank DragonDamsel for giving me the push to finish this chapter. And to think I had planned to finish this entire story by the end of the summer…Guess not!

And I'm sorry to report that there's going to be another delay after this chapter. I'm going on a two week trip out of the country, I've got a stream of holidays coming up, and immediately afterwards, I'm moving to Chicago to start school. Yes, in fact I am going insane. Thank you for asking.

Chapter 12

Incomplete Explanations

Harry's injuries weren't serious. He had cracked several ribs, fractured his arm, was pretty badly bruised all over, and had a nasty looking cut over his eye where one of the falling beams had hit him in the face as it fell, but it could have been much worse. Madame Pomfrey had seen to the broken bones, and had insisted on keeping Harry in the hospital overnight for observation. Now, the boy seemed perfectly fine, talking casually to the nurse beside his hospital bed. It was James, watching the pair from where he was leaning against his office doorway, who couldn't stop shaking.

Whatever it was, he couldn't get the image of that prone body, crumpled beneath the stone and rubble of Dervish and Banges out of his head. Nor could he seem to tear his eyes off Harry, worried that something might happen to him if he, James, looked away. The thought of it…of Harry dying….

He knew that these feelings had no logic. He hadn't even known of Harry's existence that long and of the boy personally, he knew almost nothing. But he couldn't shake the concern that kept nagging at him. Could it be that he had some sort of connection with the boy that went beyond the boundaries between their worlds? Or was he just lonely, desperate for someone to care about? He laughed sadly, and shook himself. He straightened up, and, against his newfound instincts to keep an eye on the seventeen year old, turned back into his office.

The rest of the school was in a collective shock, but thankfully safe. Thanks to the tunnels, all of the students had been evacuated safely back into the school. They were now under lockdown, with everyone in their dormitories under the supervision of their heads of houses while the Department of Magical Law Enforcement swarmed the ruins of Hogsmeade, securing the area. Dumbledore doubted that the Death Eaters would return, however. They had suffered quite a few captures during the attack. With the Ministry hording the village, they would be sure to stay safely away. The attack itself had just been another of the Death Eater's demonstrations of terror- they had aimed for nothing more than continuing to spread fear throughout the Magical Community. James sank down behind his desk. The stack of medical charts he had been struggling through earlier still lay across the desk, nagging at him. With a sigh, he filled a nearby quill with ink, and set to work.

Oo-o-000-o-oO

It was already nine by the time Madame Pomfrey saw to Neville's few injuries that he had gained in the fighting, and then shooed him out of the Hospital Wing. "It's late," she said, ushering him out the ward door with a gentle shove. "You should be in your dormitory."

Neville had left without argument. The corridors were dark and quiet. The only people Neville saw as he made his way through the long corridors and staircases were stern-faced aurors, patrolling the school. Neville ignored them, too worn out from the day's excitement to think of anything more than just getting back to his dormitory and falling into bed. He had just turned down the seventh floor corridor, when he noticed the faint outline of a figure standing by the Fat Lady's portrait. The sight set Neville's frayed nerves on edge. Could a Death Eater have snuck up here past all the aurors in the halls? Feeling nervous, Neville pulled his wand out of his pocket, grasping the wood in sweating hands as he walked closer. If it was going to take a fight…

"Neville?" Professor Lupin's voice came through the dark, startling the seventeen year old so badly that he jumped. The next second however, Lupin had lit his wand, walking further forward. Neville relaxed in relief. It was indeed his former teacher. "You're Neville, right?"

"Yeah, I am," he said, replacing his wand rather embarrassedly. Lupin noticed the movement, but didn't say anything about it.

"Professor Dumbledore was wondering if he might borrow a moment of your time," He said instead, his voice pleasant.

"Is this about the meet-" Neville asked, but Lupin cut him off with a look. Neville's face reddened. _Oh yeah_, he thought, embarrassed. They were standing in an open area; a _dark_ open area. Anyone could be listening. "Sure," he finished weakly.

"Great," Lupin said. He pulled a red tail feather from inside his robes, holding it out to the younger boy. "Here." Lupin waited for Neville to grab on before counting down. "Three…two…one." The pair vanished from the corridor in a blaze of golden light and a whirl of sound.

Oo-o-000-o-oO

The rushing noise stopped abruptly as Neville's feet hit solid ground. He looked around the dingy kitchen of the Order's Headquarters. The member s of the Order of the Phoenix were steadily gathering, some apparating into view, others clambering out of the kitchen fireplace, scattering ash everywhere.

Lupin directed Neville to a seat at the long wooden table. "Dumbledore was going to call this meeting for Sunday, but what with the Hogsmeade attack…" He trailed off as Neville nodded. "Your friend's coming too," he added.

"Harry?" Neville said, twisting his neck to look up at his former professor, surprised.

"Yeah," Lupin nodded, settling into the chair beside Neville. "Madame Pomfrey said she'd let him out of the Hospital Wing for a few hours." Neville fell into silence, thinking. This must be serious, he thought, if the usually strict nurse would be willing to release one of her patients before he was completely healed. With some trepidation, he wondered what Dumbledore wanted to talk about. What more could they want to know, after last night's meeting?

He was relieved when Harry appeared, climbing out of the kitchen grate, looking almost completely recovered from his encounter with the outer wall of Dervish and Banges. Madame Pomfrey had wrapped his left arm, which had taken a particularly nasty blow, in a cast, which she had forbidden the boy to remove. But otherwise, he looked fine. He sat down next to Neville with a sheepish sort of smile. "It's always something, isn't it?" Neville said, nodding at the cast.

"What can I say?" Harry said, his mood noticeably lighter than it had been for nearly a week. " I need attention." Neville laughed. The people around the room were all watching them- some more obviously than others. This meeting was fuller than the one they had dropped in on earlier in the week; many of the new faces were watching the two seventeen year olds with curiosity. Harry just shrugged as Neville shifted uncomfortably under the assorted gazes. "Just ignore it," The dark haired boy advised. It was a relief when the meeting had finally assembled and all eyes turned to Professor Dumbledore.

"Well, as I'm sure all of you already know, earlier this afternoon, Hogsmeade village was attacked by a force of some forty Death Eaters. I am pleased to say, however, that, despite the damage that was wrought on the buildings and stores, there have been no casualties, and very few people injured," He added with a nod in Harry's direction. All around the table, heads turned to him, and then flicked back to Dumbledore.

"In fact," Dumbledore went on, "It seems we must commend these two boys for the way they acquitted themselves in the face of danger. Am I right in saying that you two brought down five Death Eaters?" He said. The Order turned towards them, impressed noises echoing around the room. Neville reddened, muttering inaudibly. Harry didn't say anything, but looked equally embarrassed.

"Yes," Dumbledore said, more to himself than anything. Then he clapped his hands, his tone becoming businesslike again. "Very well," he said, "Enough of the musings of an old man. It's very late and I shouldn't keep you all from your homes and from your beds for much longer." Bill let out a quiet "hear, hear", which drew a ripple of laughter from the group.

"I had planned on holding this meeting tomorrow. However, in light of the recent attack, I find my schedule has been taken up by the ministry. So," he said, "to business.

"Because our last meeting was only partially attended, I would like to introduce everyone, once again to the two boys sitting here," He nodded at Harry and Neville. "Harry and Neville were kind enough to drop in on the Hogwarts grounds only a month ago, under the most fascinating set of circumstances.

"These two boys come from a dimension of our universe that is quite separate from our own." Here Dumbledore was forced to wait until the cries of puzzlement and disbelief had died away. "Extraordinary circumstances indeed," he said, nodding. "This may seem unbelievable to some of you- it is certainly a rare occurrence- but I can assure you that I have investigated the matter thoroughly." Rita Skeeter, at her usual place at the end of the table, preened.

"Since their arrival, it seems that our newcomers have been tirelessly researching ways to defeat Lord Voldemort. As I understand it, my own counterpart from Harry's world entrusted him with this task, is that correct?" Harry nodded, to cries of general indignation,

"Not this again," he muttered under his breath as several people opened their mouths to argue, but so quietly that only Neville could hear. He stood up.

"Look," He said, addressing the room. "I know that a lot of you think we're too young to do this. But Professor Dumbledore-" He paused, "-The one from my dimension- knew what he was doing." He stopped again as a strangely sad expression flitted over his face. "I wouldn't have taken this on myself, but he believed that I could do it. That I was the only one who could do it."

"And how did he come to that conclusion, I wonder?" Moody growled. "I'm not saying I don't believe you, Sonny, but we need a solid reason." Harry frowned, seeming to consider.

"Voldemort was in power long before I was born," He said, eyes on Mad-Eye's ruined face. "Some time before I was born, Dumbledore was interviewing a teacher for the position of Divination class. Halfway through the interview, she had a vision- a prophecy that a child would be born who would be the one with the power to destroy Voldemort. It meant me.

"But she was overheard. Voldemort found out about the prophecy, and he murdered my parents. To get to me." The room was stone silent. "But I survived, and Voldemort was almost completely destroyed by the curse that backfired. He spent thirteen years in exile before he regained his body and his powers. But he's always seen me as a threat.

"I don't think he thinks that I can kill him, no," Harry added, shaking his head. "But most of the Wizarding world said that I had been his downfall- and he couldn't have that."

"And that's why Dumbledore thought that you should be the one to destroy him?" Sirius sounded skeptical.

"No," Harry said. "I'm explaining this wrong, aren't I?" He stared down at the table, thinking, then looked up again. "Dumbledore knew that the prophecy was a real one- and," Harry looked hesitant, " there are certain connections between Voldemort and I."

"Connections?"  
"I'd rather not go into it," Harry said, not meeting the Auror's eye. Sirius exchanged frowns with James, but didn't press the matter. "The point is," Harry continued, "Dumbledore knew that I'd be the one who could defeat Voldemort, so he tried to prepare me for it. We talked a lot about where Voldemort's powers- and his immortality- came from.

"But Dumbledore died last June." Heads turned in the Headmaster's direction, who was listening to Harry intently. "And then the Death Eaters took over the Ministry and Hogwarts. So I, and my friends, spent last year in hiding, trying to find a way to destroy him.

"We were very close. But then we needed to return to Hogwarts, which was overrun by Death Eaters. So Voldemort brought the war out into the open. Neville and I were sent here by some sort of Magical backlash."

The mood around the room could be summed up in Tonks' quiet exclamation: "Oh."

Neville, however, frowned. Perhaps no one else had noticed because they were too caught up by the story, but it occurred to him that Harry had left out a lot. The question that he had pushed aside on the first night they had arrived here in this dimension now rose back to the surface of his mind. Why had Harry chosen to give himself up to Voldemort? If he had known that he was the only one who could kill the man who had terrorized so many, why would he give it all up? Because he was simply being his own altruistic self? That was stupid. If Harry was their only hope, why would he have left them to fight what would now be a losing battle? _No_, Neville told himself, _there has to be another explanation_.

But the conversation had carried on without his noticing. With some effort, Neville pulled himself back to the present, carefully avoiding eye-contact with Harry, who had once again taken his seat.

"In light of all this," Dumbledore was saying to the gathered Order members "I don't see why we can't allow these two to have some part in this fight. Due to the severity of recent times, the Order has been obliged to extend it's membership to a few exceptional students within Hogwarts.

" I will not lie to you- to any of you- the war is not going well. It would be remiss of us to cast aside an offer of help- especially when these two have done more than prove themselves worthy of our acceptance." Harry's face brightened, but Neville noticed that James was staring horrorstruck at the Headmaster.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said.

"I will expect a more thorough explanation sometime later," He replied, giving Harry an astonishingly familiar gaze over his spectacles. So it wasn't just Neville who had spotted the incompleteness of Harry's explanation. "If you would prefer to do so more privately, then I will be happy to oblige."

"Yes, sir," Harry answered, his voice quiet.

Oo-o-000-o-oO

Frank Longbottom couldn't quite place why the Neville kid looked so familiar.

Oo-o-000-o-oO

The drawing room was richly decorated, lit only by the large fire crackling in the grate. The flickering light fell over the glowing red eyes of the rooms only occupant, making them flash cat-like and eerie. Lord Voldemort stared out the window, watching the wind ruffle the branches of the trees that surrounded the manor.

The door behind him opened. "Welcome, Severus," Voldemort said, not bothering to turn.

"You summoned me, my Lord?" Came the reply, quiet and subservient.

"I did." Voldemort turned at last, fixing his red gaze on the kneeling form of his most trusted servant. "I have a task for you, Severus. Something I think you'll enjoy. You have always had a fondness for brewing, have you not?" He did not pause to wait for a reply. "I have need of certain restorative potions, tailored to my unique situation."

"My Lord?" Snape glanced up, his harshly structured face schooled into a blank mask. Only his inflection showed that he had asked any question. Stupid man, Voldemort thought idly.

"Your master has requested a service of you, Severus," He said, his high, cold voice dangerous. "It is not your place to question me."

"Of course not, my Lord." Severus lowered his eyes again. "Might I ask the nature of these restorative potions?"

"You will find that everything you need will be provided for you," the Dark Lord replied. "I will have them delivered to your dungeons within a week. I need hardly remind you that I expect absolute perfection in your work." In reply, Severus bowed lower. Satisfied, Voldemort dismissed him.

The Dark Lord turned back to the window as Snape stood and backed out of the door, his mind already on other matters. It was only after he heard the door snap shut that he raised his right hand to examine the lesion that had appeared there only two days ago. A patch of deadened, rotten skin had carved a spot in the palm of his hand. The black spot, he thought with a humorless laugh. The mark was not painful, but Voldemort knew that more would follow. The result of long years of magical experimentation was slowly taking its toll on the Dark Lord's body. But he would defeat this, as he had defeated all else.


	13. Surprised?

B"SD

Disclaimer: Not mine. Still.

Hi! No, I haven't fallen off the face of the earth, despite all evidence to the contrary. Thanks to all those people who waited so long- not that you had much of a choice, I'll admit, but thanks anyway! I'm settling into college- actually just completed my first week. So we're back on schedule, I think. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 13

Surprised?

The next day dawned gray, cloudy, and frigid. Neville woke early, too cold to go back to sleep. The closed windows couldn't quite keep out the freezing gusts of wind, which whistled through the cracks in the pane. Other than that, the dorm was silent, apart from the occasional snore from the other boys who looked all but dead to the world. Shivering, Neville gingerly walked across the stone floor to the bathroom. As long as he was up, he reckoned, he might as well get showered and dressed.

As soon as he was finished, he made his way down to the common room, which had been cleaned in the night. A fire was already crackling in the grate, a small attempt to ward off the cold temperatures. Neville reached behind the table that he and Harry usually worked at, pulling out a book that he had been in the middle of. He sat down as close to the fire as possible, and, with a shrug, flipped to the place where he had stopped. He stared down at the white page, but found he couldn't focus on the small lettering.

The thought of becoming part of the Order of the Phoenix thrilled him. For years he had tried and tried to be taken seriously. Part of that was the idea of belonging, to being part of Harry's group, but it also stemmed from wanting to feel that he was taking part in a cause that was bigger than just their little group of Gryffindors. Harry had always been the fighter, hadn't he? And now, almost before he knew what was happening, he, Neville, had been accepted by Dumbledore himself into _the_ Order of the Phoenix. Neville grinned to himself, flipping idly through the book. He was interrupted by a knock on the portrait outside. He frowned curiously, standing up.

"Hullo?" he said, opening the portrait hole. There in the dimly lit corridor, bundled up against the cold, stood Hermione.

"Hi," she said, nervously. "I…I wasn't sure anybody would be up."

"Oh," Neville said. There was an awkward pause, in which Hermione looked hopefully into the common room behind Neville. "Oh!" Neville said, "D'you want to come in?"

"Sure," Hermione said, relieved. She clambered through the Portrait hole, and made a beeline for the fireplace. She pulled off her outer jumper, looking around at the unfamiliar surroundings. She turned around to Neville, who had followed her into the room. "I'm glad you were up," she said, "I had actually wanted to talk to you."

"Mmm?" Neville sank down on the nearest couch, a little anxious. Harry had told him about Hermione confronting him in the Great Hall. What else could she want from them?

Hermione was wearing her familiar determined and thoughtful expression that Neville could remember seeing on her face whenever she tracked someone to berate them about S.P.E.W. "Look," she said, dropping down into the chair opposite Neville. "Professor Dumbledore…Dumbledore sent me a message last night, telling me what happened at the Order meeting last night."

. "W-what?"

"Surely he mentioned something about having students as part of the Order, right?" Hermione explained. "There are only a few of us, and it's not like we're official members, but we help the Order out."

"You're kidding," Neville said, more surprised than disbelieving. It was all well and good for he and Harry to be part of the order- quite apart from their own experiences in fighting off Death Eaters, their very presence in this world were under extraordinary circumstances. It was incredible to Neville that normal students in the school would be able to participate in the war against Voldemort. "How?"

"Nothing dangerous," Hermione assured him. "We help find information, mostly. Whether spying or simply looking stuff up in the Library when the Order doesn't have time to do it themselves. It's harmless, but it gives us the chance to be part of the fight. Which is enough for us." Her brown eyes were blazing.

"That's what Harry and I have been doing," Neville said.

"I know," Hermione said with a bit of a smile. "How did you think Dumbledore found out about you two?" Neville's jaw fell open in shock.

"The war's not going very well and Dumbledore's looking for help in all directions. The students involved are kept in greater secrecy than the Order is," she went on in the face of Neville's continued silence. "Almost no one knows about our involvement until they're a part of it. For our protection. And now you're part of it," she finished, staring at Neville as if sizing him up.

Neville couldn't think what to say. There was a long pause, in which he watched the crackling fireplace "So-" he said finally, "so…what happens now?"

"Sorry?" Hermione asked startled out of the reverie she had fallen into in the silence.

"What- what are we going to do? Help you guys?" he asked gesturing vaguely. "How many are there of you anyway?"

"A fair few…" Hermione counted off on her fingers. "There're three Gryffindors- well, five now, I suppose, with you two- a couple in Ravenclaw…I think one of them graduated last year, and four in Hufflepuff, including me." She watched Neville's impressed face. "It's not like we hold meetings or anything," she said, "It'd be too dangerous. Mainly Dumbledore sends us messages or meets with us in private"

"Oh," Neville said. "Dumbledore didn't tell us what he wanted us to do yet, I guess." There was the sound of footsteps from upstairs, of students waking up.

"I better go," Hermione said, standing up. "I'll tell you if I hear anything else. I just wanted to…well," she gathered up the jumper she had dropped on the chair. "Well, goodbye."

Neville walked her to the portrait hole, and watched her disappear into the chilly corridor. "Bye, Hermione." He said. Hermione's head whipped around, a strange look on her face. Then, as if with a huge effort, her expression cleared, and she nodded.

"I'll see you." She left without another word.

The rest of the morning was a quiet one. Most students spent their time as close to their common room fires as possible, trying to ward off the near-freezing temperatures that had been reached overnight. Signs had been posted in the common rooms as well, which read, much to general disappointment, that classes would resume as normal on Monday morning. The aurors and magical catastrophe workers were scheduled to return to the ministry by the early afternoon.

By lunchtime, Neville had grown tired of the crowded common room. He gathered up the homework he had been catching up on, shoved it into his bag and wove through the chattering groups of students.

The halls were mostly deserted, as it seemed the other houses too were avoiding the drafty corridors. Neville shivered as he descended staircase after staircase. He had had in mind to go to the library when he had left the common room, but now he felt too restless. With a shrug, he adjusted his book bag, and turned toward the castle doors. No one had said anything about the students not being allowed outside, and after several hours of being cooped up, he felt he needed the air.

A blast of brisk air met him as he stepped out onto the steps, but he ignored the chill as best he could, hunching over in an effort to preserve his own body heat. Teeth chattering, he set off automatically towards the greenhouses. In such weather, he guessed that there would be no one in there, and pulling open Greenhouse Three's door, he found he was right. It was much warmer inside the glass room. The climate was carefully controlled for the health of the plants that the school was cultivating, and as Neville walked around the tables, examining the various herbs and vines, he could find no signs of frost on any of the leaves. He dropped his bag beneath the table where Professor Sprout kept the gardening implements and pulled on a pair of gloves.

Besides for the occasional patch of weeds, here and there, Neville found that there was little for him to do. He strolled around the various plants, checking and rechecking them for frost or, in the case of the rather young mandrakes, acne. The work was much more enjoyable than all the reading and researching he had been muddling through for the past weeks, and it allowed him the chance to think. Still wearing the sound-canceling earmuffs as he carefully dug through the mandrake soil, he completely missed the arrival of a second person to the greenhouse until a brush of movement in his peripheral vision caused him to look up. Turning, he all but leapt in the air in fright. The man was standing just behind him, holding earmuffs to his own head, watching him closely. With the mandrake safely covered, however, the older man- who was tall, slightly red haired, and wearing Auror robes, - pulled the muffs away.

"Sorry," Neville could see his lips form the word. Heart still pounding, Neville removed his own earmuffs, in time to hear the man finish his sentence. "-to startle you like that. Didn't think anyone would be in here." Neville didn't know what to say. The man was staring at him intently. Feeling uncomfortable, Neville dropped the pruning shears onto the table, pulling at his gloves nervously.

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't know we weren't supposed to-"

"Oh no, no," the auror said hastily, cutting across him. "It's perfectly alright for you to be in here- don't get me wrong- I just didn't think anyone would be, that's all."

Neville said nothing, watching the auror's face. Now that he thought about it, there did seem to be something oddly familiar about the man- as if Neville had seen him before but had forgotten. Which, he thought with something of a mental shrug, was entirely possible.

"Well," The auror said, if only to fill the silence, "Don't let me bother you." He looked around at the flora of the greenhouse before pulling his cloak closed. He glanced back at Neville as he pulled the door open, a puzzled frown on his face. He looked out into the gray grounds outside for a second as if steeling himself for something, before turning back.

"I'm sorry," he said sheepishly, "But-" he paused and then went on. "Do I know you, by any chance?" Neville shrugged, completely nonplussed.

"I don't think so," he said, though the nagging, familiar feeling still pestered him. There was an awkward silence, while the auror looked slightly disappointed.

"Alright," he said. "Sorry." He left.

Neville shook his head, and adjusted the gloves which were practically falling off his hands. He returned to the plants, though he had a distant impression that he had missed something very important.

Halfway across the grounds, walking across the deserted and howling quidditch pitch, Neville was not the only student to have braved the cold to escape the Gryffindor common room. With just a simple _alohamora_, Harry had been able to break into the broom shed, and pulled out one of the more promising looking school models.

He gripped the knobby wood tightly, wistfully thinking of his firebolt. Well, he supposed, beggars could not be choosers. Finding a spot in the middle of the field, he swung a leg over the broom and rocketed into the air. The frigid wind battered him as he soared higher and higher above the pitch, his eyes closed. The wonderful feeling of forgetfulness filled him as the wind roared in his ears, buffeting him as he twisted and turned, pushing the broom as high as it would go. For just a second, this could have been any other quidditch game, the stands filled with students, their cheers and jeering lost in the rush of air that whipped his hair and robes back. Just another game- where he didn't have Voldemort's and his own death weighing on his shoulders and mind- where he didn't have to choose between winning the war and living to see age eighteen. No. For that one, glorious moment, all he had to worry about was catching the snitch, winning the house cup, and seeing the look on the opposing seeker's face- possibly Malfoy's - as he snatched the tiny golden ball from under his nose.

The air grew colder as he climbed, finally reaching the point where the broom was shaking with the pressure of keeping him so high. Well, if that was what it wanted… Harry leveled out, nearly a mile above the ground, made a lazy loop of the field, and almost casually, tilted the broom down. The broom picked up speed exponentially as the dive steepened, air rushing past his ears as he fell to earth. Forty, fifty, sixty miles per hour. His eyes watered in the cold, his jaw clenched tight, but a thrill as he had never felt before expanded in his chest as he watched the earth hurtle toward him. Judging the distance carefully, feet from the ground, Harry heaved on the broom handle, pulling with all his might. He was close enough to count each blade of grass when the Comet 260 leveled out, still going more than seventy miles an hour. With no room to slow down, Harry looped back upwards, this time staying at the level of the goal posts. He wove tightly in and out of the hoops at the far end of the field, passing so close to the wood that his robes smacked against them as he turned. Finally at a controllable pace, eyes shining and hands shaking with the exhilaration of the flight, Harry glided to the center of the field, coming to a gentle stop in midair, his heart beating faster than he had just dived. He closed his eyes once again, relishing the feeling, determined to hold onto it as long as he could. He circled the empty pitch a couple more times, before the fact that his hands and face were burning with cold finally persuaded him to land. With great reluctance, he returned to earth, and with it, to real life.

Well, he thought bitterly as he walked back to the broom shed, it had been nice while it lasted.

It wasn't so bad, he reasoned with himself as he deposited the Comet back in with the other brooms and relocked the door. Now that Dumbledore had allowed Neville and himself into the Order, they'd be able to keep working, this time without the obstacles of everyone disapproving of what they were doing, or trying to stop them.

The fight in Hogsmeade too, had loosened some of the tension that had been building within him for the past week or so. The chance to be part of the fight, to actually see the bastards who called themselves Death Eaters felled by his own spells and curses, was extremely satisfying. The occasional broken arm notwithstanding, something in Harry could not wait to be given the same chance a second time. Call it revenge for all those he had seen killed or maimed in his own world; call it his saving-people-thing. Who cared? The success of the fight in Hogsmeade had buoyed his spirits.

The elves in the kitchens had prepared a truly spectacular stew for lunch. The smell wafted through the entire ground floor as Harry, blowing on his reddened hands, crossed the entrance hall into the crowded and noisy Great Hall. After the solitude and peace of outside, the chattering and shouting was somewhat surprising. Still slightly shivery, Harry sat down at the end of the Gryffindor table and helped himself to a large serving of the stew.

He was just helping himself to seconds when he saw Neville enter the Great Hall, lugging his book bag. He waved, and Neville spotted him. He dropped down into the seat opposite Harry. "That smells so good," he said, his stomach growling. Harry passed him the nearest tureen, watching as Neville filled his bowl.

"Where've you been?" he asked curiously. Neville swallowed a spoonful of the steaming vegetables, his eyes closing at the wonderful taste.

"Mmm?" he said. "Oh, down in the Greenhouses. I was just looking around." He shrugged. "Professor Sprout's breeding mandrakes again- and the Merlin bushes are still grumpy, which is a good sign."

"They're supposed to be like that?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Neville said. "It's a defence mechanism. If they ever start acting friendly, you know there's something wrong."

"Sounds like my relatives," Harry said with a smile. Neville shrugged, eating more stew.

"Sounds like _anyone's_ relatives," he said when he had swallowed.

"True," Harry laughed, thinking of Ron's Aunt Muriel. The two finished lunch in amiable silence and, after some discussion, decided that they might as well get back into researching. Harry was still riding the high that the fight in Hogsmeade had left behind. He was sure, that with just a bit more work, they could finally make a breakthrough. Both having grown sick of the common room, they opted for heading for the library.

"We'll just have to remember to put all our books back ourselves," Harry said wryly, thinking of Hermione. Neville grimaced, remembering his own conversation with the Hufflepuff girl. Had that been only this morning?

His mind drifted back to that strange encounter with the auror in the greenhouse. He shook his head, the nagging feeling returning. What was it about the man that had seemed so familiar?

"Something wrong, Neville?" Harry asked, dropping his voice as they entered the library. He glanced around automatically, and sure enough, Hermione was at the far table, gathering forgotten books. Harry felt a slight pang of chagrin as he watched her look a little too closely at the titles. Neville "hmm'd" catching Harry's attention again.

"I-I don't think so," Neville said uncertainly. "It's probably nothing."

"_What's_ probably nothing?" Harry said.

"Nothing," Neville decided. "I just met someone today in the greenhouse. I thought I recognized him- but it was probably nothing."

"Okay," Harry said doubtfully. They left it at that for the rest of the afternoon. Despite Harry's earlier optimism, the researching session yielded little new information. Still unsure of what exactly it was that they were looking for, Harry sat down behind a stack of randomly chosen Advanced Defense books and Magical theories, while Neville simply grabbed a stack of old _Prophets_. The timeline of the War that they were constructing was now nicely filled, following the majority of the bigger battles and attacks. On the side was a list of victims in high standing, and a short list of caught or deceased Death Eaters. Harry had been able to recall the names of nearly a dozen Death Eaters off the top of his head, and happily, was able to add familiar names to the list as they went along: the Carrows had been caught nearly five years ago, Rodulphous Lestrange had been killed by Mad-Eye Moody in the early eighties, Rosier, Rookwood and Macnair were dead too. Both Harry and Neville had been disappointed to find that Lucius Malfoy was still at large, along with the rest of his family, including his sister-in-law, Bellatrix.

By dinnertime, both of them were thoroughly sick of the library. Harry packed up the books and went to put them away, while Neville remained at the table they had been working at, gathering their papers. Lifting his book bag off the desk, he found one of the leaves of the newspapers that Harry had missed. His own name at the bottom of the page caught his eye, and he snatched it up again.

"Longbottom, Moody apprehend notorious mass murderer." He read the headline of the article, breathlessly. His eyes flew to the top corner of the newspaper. "12 November 1996?" _What?_

For as long as Neville could remember, his father- both his parents- had been shut away in St. Mungo's, unresponsive and blank. He stared at the paper, absolutely frozen. Was this a joke? He scanned the article, which was a small news story from last autumn. Frank Longbottom- Neville felt an electric charge of shock every time he read the name- and Moody had tracked down a man named **Thorfinn Rowle, who was apparently responsible for several ****_hundred _****muggle deaths. They had subdued him, brought him into the ministry, where he was tried and sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss. The ending paragraph was cut off, where it had continued to the other page. It was only on the third reading of the article that Neville realized that he was shaking. Very slowly, he placed the newsprint back on the table, but was unable to tear his eyes from the headline which bore his father's name. He felt a hand on his shoulder and whirled around.**

**It was the auror from the greenhouse. The knowledge hit Neville like a sledge hammer, driving the breath from his chest. A rushing sound filled his ears as he focused on the man's face. His father. His father. How could he have missed it? He had visited his parents in St Mungo's almost every weekend and holiday as a child. his parents, who spent every second of their lives in their own worlds, staring into nothing at all, weak and ill-looking. And yet here he stood. Frank Longbottom. The world tilted sharply.**

****

**Again, I'm sorry for the long wait- if I could have helped it…I probably would have procrastinated anyway, actually. But I hope this lived up to expectations, and hopefully the next one will come sooner than this did. **

**If you found any glaring mistakes, please point them out to me; I'm putting this up without my extra-comma person's permission.**


	14. Lost and Found

BS"D

Disclaimer: Nope.

Wow. I never expected to finish this so soon. This is probably not going to be a regular occurrence, but enjoy it anyway. Lord knows, someone should.

Many, many thanks to everyone who's still reading this. And to VisuallyChallenged22, who finally was able to read and correct this, despite being even more swamped than I am.

Chapter 14

Lost and Found

Well, James could concede that the day hadn't been the worst in the last week, but it definitely contested for the top five. Which wasn't saying much, considering he only worked five days a week. Still distracted by the whole issue concerning his would-be son, James had also had to contend with an upsurge in student stupidity. With the first quidditch match of the season drawing ever nearer, fights were breaking out left and right all over the school. The most recent one had culminated in two second year boys, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw respectively, admitted to the hospital wing with a brand new set of antlers for the Gryffindor, and beets sprouting from the ears of the Ravenclaw, in addition to both boys sporting matching black eyes.

Through the open door of his office, James could still hear the pair of them squabbling across the hospital wing, though their beds were on opposite ends of the ward. He rubbed his eyes in exasperation, wondering how he could convince Madame Pomfrey into allowing him placing both boys under a silencing charm. Or even a sleeping draught.

_Honestly, _he thought, _twelve year old egos. _

It was certainly something to behold.

A sudden break in the exchange of belligerent,_"Oh yeah?"_s caused James to look up.

Hello?" Called a familiar, female voice. "Is Healer Potter here?" James heard her ask the patient closer to the door.

"S'in there," the boy muttered, presumably jerking his head up the ward towards the open door.

In here, Tonks," James called. He tilted back his chair a few feet, making himself visible through the doorway. The Auror, short and ginger today smiled at her friend as she approached the door.

You shouldn't do that," Nymphadora said with a small smile, nodding at James' chair. "I've heard it's dangerous. Could fall, break your neck."

Can do that climbing the stairs too," James said, allowing the chair to drop forward onto all four of its legs. He stood and walked around the desk to lean against the doorpost, saying, "And yet I still sleep on the third floor. I enjoy the adventure of it, I guess." Despite his easy tone, James knew that his fellow Order member hadn't just popped in for no reason. Tonks's ever present grin looked a tad strained. James noticed that the two boys were listening intently to his conversation, and gestured for the young woman to enter the office. "C'mon in, have some coffee," He said, keeping his tone light. "The office's not much, but I practically live here."

"Thanks," she replied, closing the door behind her as she stepped into the office.

"What is it?" James asked at once, immediately becoming businesslike.

"Albus has been having Frank and I in research all day," she said, speaking very fast. "Ever since the Potter boy mentioned the horky things-"

"Horcruxes?"

"Yeah those," Tonks said dismissively. "Whatever they're called, we've been in the library all day- and Frank-" Tonks broke off, "Listen, it'll take too much time to explain now- We need you downstairs right now. Some kid in there's having a fit or something."

"Sure," James said, recognizing the urgency in her voice and standing up. "You said the library?"

"Yeah."

"We can use the floo then." James grabbed a small snuffbox of sparkling powder from his desktop. He crossed the room to the fire, followed close behind by the petite auror. He threw the dust into the grate, and, stepping into the emerald flames that flared up, cried, "Library!"

James all but fell out of the fireplace, then scrambled up out of the way as the young auror crashed down behind him. From a short distance, he could hear someone speaking in a deliberately calm voice, obviously trying to talk someone out of hysterics. James let Tonks lead the way, and, as they came around a bookshelf he could see Frank standing off to one side, watching helplessly as Harry stood in front of Neville, his back to James, hands on the boy's shoulders as he spoke calmly at him.

"Breathe, okay?" Neville nodded, his eyes fixed on Harry's face. "In. Out." There was a few seconds of silence while Neville took deep gasps of air. Out of the corner of his eye, James could see that Tonks looked slightly disappointed, having missed out on the action, he supposed. "In. Out."

It took a few more seconds, but Neville finally relaxed, his whole body slumping as he dropped onto the table behind him. Harry stepped away as soon as he was sure that his friend was fine. It was hard to tell who looked more embarrassed by the whole episode, James thought with a hint of amusement, Harry, Neville, or Frank.

He cleared his throat, drawing looks from all three. Harry spoke. "We're fine," he said, looking over his shoulder. It was almost dismissive. James strode forward anyway.

"Can you tell me what happened?" he asked, pulling out his wand.

"Nothing," Neville muttered to the floor, positively maroon in the face. James, having some mercy on the boy, directed his next question at Harry.

"Did he lose consciousness? Faint?"

Harry frowned. "I don't think so…" he said uncertainly. James couldn't decide whether Harry was reluctant to accept James' help or simply didn't know. The green-eyed boy glanced at Neville, who shrugged. James saw his eyes flick to Frank, then quickly away.

"Are you feeling dizzy? Any nausea?" James went on, continuing with his assessment of the boy's health. "Did you hit your head?" Neville replied in the negative to every question. Tentatively, James took Neville's wrist, checking the young man's pulse. It was a bit elevated, but steady, he decided. He stepped back, sure that the boy was basically alright. He looked from Harry to Neville, turning back to the issue at hand.

"So what happened?" he repeated. He was met with carefully blank faces. Neville shrugged. Frank stepped forward, and James saw Neville's eyes flick back up again; tracking the auror's every move. Comprehension slowly dawned in James' mind. Very slowly, his eyes moved from Frank's confused face, to Neville's and back again. Neville Longbottom…_Longbottom_.

"Okay," he said slowly, wondering how he had never placed the two together before. "I think we all need to sit down."

o-oo-OO-oo-o

Reluctantly- and obviously still feeling awkward- they gathered around the library table. Neville half-collapsed in a chair, while Harry leaned against the table, his arms folded defensively. Frank and Tonks stepped closer, Frank still wearing an expression of utter bewilderment. James hesitated, then conjured a shining patronus, sending it off for Professor Dumbledore. He noticed that Harry grimaced as he watched the silver stag canter off out of the library.

"So," Tonks said when James had re-stowed his wand in the pocket of his robes. "Care to explain wot this is about?" James smiled. Trust Tonks to get to the point.

"Perhaps you two would like to tell us?" James asked, looking at Harry as he said it. Harry shook his head.

"I told you," he said. "I don't know what happened. I only just came back from returning the books we had been using." He frowned as he tacked on, "I don't think you need to call Professor Dumbledore about this, though."  
James ignored this, instead turning to Neville. "Well, boy?" he asked, though not unkindly. Neville looked up at his friend, taking a deep breath.

"Harry," He said a smile spreading across his round face as he remembered the day they had awoken in the hospital wing almost a month before, "Harry, that's my father."

Poor Frank, James thought pityingly as he watched the auror's jaw drop.

o-oo-OO-oo-o

Ginny shivered, wrapping her cloak closer around herself as she and Colin approached the darkening Quidditch Stadium. High above, Ginny could see a figure slowly circling the goal hoops. Despite herself, she smiled as she watched her brother lazily glide about the field. Ron had been so caught up with that stupid book that he was always carrying around lately, it was good to see that he was still flying. A chill quite apart from the evening October air swept through her at the thought of the diary.

It was inexplicable, Ron's fascination with the little book. She almost never saw him without it. He was spending hours, staring at the thing, completely enraptured with the blank pages. Worse, he had now become surly and irritable, whenever she interrupted his scribblings in the yellowed pages. She still hadn't quite forgiven him for shouting at her three days ago. But the fact that they were fighting hurt.

Beside her, Colin sighed.

"What?" she asked, turning to him. Her normally care-free friend was frowning up at the sky as well. He shrugged.

"I dunno what we should do," he said, and Ginny knew he was just as concerned for her older brother as she was. "You don't think we should go to McGonagall, do you?"

Ginny frowned. The thought hadn't even occurred to her. "What would we say?" she asked, completely bewildered. "You don't think it's that bad, do you?"

"Well," Colin said, "He's not acting himself, is he?"

"Yeah…" Ginny said slowly, letting her doubtful response hang in the air for a second before continuing. "But it's not like it's dark magic or anything like that. Right?"

Colin shrugged again. "I dunno. What if it is?"

"But what if it isn't?" Ginny countered. "What if we're wrong and we just end up bothering McGonagall for no reason? Or if Ron gets even more mad at us?" she added sadly. Though she had rarely been on the receiving end of it before the past few weeks, Ginny knew that he brother had a quick, vindictive temper. "I just don't want …" she trailed off. She didn't want to lose her best friend. Her stomach twisted as the thought crossed her mind. Losing Ron.

"I'll talk to him again; I'll get him to come around" she said, her voice stronger. She looked over at Colin, her eyes pleading. "Okay?"

"Alright," Colin conceded, his own doubts evident in his voice. "But if that doesn't work…"

Ginny shook her head. "It'll work." She smiled bracingly up at the flying figure. He was flying, right? That was a good sign.

o-oo-OO-oo-o

Ron looped around the frigid field, the cold air biting at his skin. He had felt unsettled all day; he had been unable to concentrate on his work, and yet had felt unbearably bored when he had packed his books away. Even as he flew- the only activity that he had been able to think of that didn't grate on his nerves- annoyed shivers kept running up and down his spine. He found himself irritated with everything: the feel of the broom pressing against his knees, the weight of the sweater he had thrown on before take-off, the dullness of the flight.

No less scattered, his thoughts refused to settle on anything- jerking from one empty subject to another. Besides the irritation that he couldn't explain, even if he had been able to concentrate long enough to try, he felt empty- emotionless. Like some sort of black hole had filled his mind, leaving behind blank, disparate debris. Nothing made sense. Nothing. Dimly, he wondered what would happen if he simply let go of the broom. The ground was over fifty feet below, solid and icy. Would he care- plummeting to earth, death rushing ever nearer- would he be scared? He had felt scared on that day in Diagon Alley, curled up beside the store wall as he watched the terror bleed into the world around him. But everything was so distant now. So blank.

He supposed he wouldn't jump. There wasn't much point, was there? Was there even anything left within him to be smashed?

He shut his eyes as he flew, not caring about the risk as he continued to circle the pitch. In the inviting and silent darkness he could feel the steady beating of a pulse, a steady beat that emanated not from his own heart, but from the diary that had become the only thing he could interest himself in. sometimes, he even fancied that it was alive. That it carried its own soul. The thought was insane, of course. He would have dismissed it out of hand not three weeks ago. But that was before his focus had shifted. Nothing in the world mattered. Nothing whatsoever. Except for the blank yellowed pages of the diary.

How strange, that the blank sheets of paper bound within the leather seemed to hold more than the empty and echoing thoughts of his own mind. He smiled humorlessly. It wasn't really funny. No one could really understand it. But it made sense to him. It was the only thing that did anymore.

He opened his eyes again as he swooped around the field once again. The sun was now completely below the horizon, it's remaining, pale colors casting little light over the grounds. Any second and some teacher was going to come running out to herd him back inside. Back into the castle, filled with all those people. All those tiresome people who _cared_ so much. Quidditch, girls, boys, homework, classes, families; All of it. So wrapped in their own stupid worlds that they couldn't see how stupid those worlds were, Ron thought in disgust. Selfish, all of them. Right down at the core, that's was what all that caring came to. Stupid selfishness. To hell with them. To hell with it all.

Lodged in the pocket over his heart, the diary beat a steady pulse, as he flew upward into the freezing and darkening air.

o-oo-OO-oo-o

Does it bother me that writing depression is so easy for me? …Not really. It's the fun of being an author. I hope you enjoyed this.


	15. A New Perspective

BS"D

Still not mine.

I've felt guilty for delaying this for almost three months now. Y'know how people say that college is a lot of work? Turns out, they weren't lying. It was giving me a serious case of writer's block too. I felt like I had just painted myself into a corner, plot-wise, and couldn't see a way out. However, I am now on vacation, and lo and behold, inspiration strikes.

Chapter 15

A New Perspective

Of all the useless things to waste his time, Severus would have to place his seventh year potions class at the top of the list. He had just spent the last hour and a half glaring out at the classroom of bowed heads and bubbling cauldrons, his thoughts furiously enumerating everything else he could be doing. The Dark Lord, in the face of his recent defeat, was becoming increasingly demanding.

He strolled across his office towards the door to his private laboratory, not even pausing as he dropped his teaching papers and uncorrected homeworks onto the desk as he went. The powerful smell of eucalyptus hit him as he pulled the lab door open.

No less than three cauldrons of restorative potions in varying degrees of potency were simmering away in Snape's private chambers. As with every order Snape had been given over the long years, the Dark Lord had demanded absolute secrecy. He himself had acquired the ingredients, most of which were prohibitively rare and highly temperamental. These were no third-year potions. Severus bent over the nearest concoction, adjusting the bluebell flames beneath the cauldron. The potion within hissed as it cooled, turning a vile shade of yellow as it stewed.

Satisfied, Severus straightened, before going to check on the other two. He was interrupted, however by a distant knock at his office door. He looked up curiously; he hadn't been expecting anyone. He adjusted the third potion's temperature with a frown, and then strode back to his office.

Dumbledore's elf stood in the doorway, its bat-like ears quivering with nervousness.

"What?" he snapped.

"Master Dumbledore wishes to speak with Professor Snape," it squeaked. "He is in his office and requests that Master Snape come immediately." Without waiting for a reply the elf vanished with an almighty _crack_. Severus sighed heavily in irritation. He returned to his lab just long enough to place a cooling charm on the potions and grab his cloak, which he had shrugged off while brewing. He left the office at a quick walk, careful to shut his door firmly behind him.

The corridors were mostly deserted of students, leaving Snape no distraction from speculating what the Headmaster could possibly want with him. Dumbledore wouldn't bother to call him away from his work unless it was a matter of some urgency. However, Snape could think of nothing the Headmaster might want from him. The Dark Lord had retreated after his defeat in Hogsmeade and there had been no attacks whatsoever for the past week. Unable to think of anything, Severus pulled himself back to the present in time to find himself outside the Headmaster's door. He raised a hand to knock.

"Enter," came Dumbledore's voice, before his fist even landed on the door. With a scowl, Severus pushed the door open.

Dumbledore stood at the open office window, where he had been taking in the darkening view of the grounds. He had turned when the door opened, nodding politely when Snape shut the door behind himself.

"Severus," he said in greeting. "Thank you for taking the time to come up here. I know how busy you must be."

"You wanted to see me, Headmaster?" Snape countered. If Dumbledore was going to waste time with pleasantries…

"I did," Dumbledore said, leaving the window sill. "Will you sit down?" he gestured towards the desk, upon which stood a fresh tea service.

"I'd rather not," Snape said, as graciously as he could muster.

"Very well," Dumbledore said with a nod. "I will get right to it. It seems there has been a burglary in Hogsmeade. A rather precious heirloom was stolen from Honeyduke's house, and they are in great distress."

"The Chocolatiers?" Severus couldn't keep from raising an eyebrow speculatively.

"A very old family," Dumbledore went on, as if Snape had not spoken, "Elizabeth can proudly trace her own lineage back to the tenth century, when her family first came to settle in the village of Hogsmeade. I believe her family name was Peverell."

Snape stayed silent, wondering where this was leading to. Since when did Dumbledore care about Wizarding Genealogy? "And the heirloom?" He prompted when Dumbledore offered no further information.

"An old talisman, purported to provide protection from any magical force," Dumbledore explained. "The wearer would be entirely safe from outside attack. Elizabeth first noticed the heirloom missing when the ministry officials rebuilt the house. She is certain that the talisman was taken during the raid on the village."

Snape nodded, still wondering what his part was in this whole affair.

"I have known Tom Riddle for many years," Dumbledore said suddenly. "From the time he was a boy, he loved to collect items of power and prestige. Perhaps these are just the idle musings of an old man; however, given the nature of the attack on our neighboring village, I could not help but wonder if it had merely been a ruse to draw attention away from the theft."

"And why should the Dark Lord be interested in a protective talisman?" Snape asked carefully. "He has few enemies who would dare raise a wand to him directly."

Dumbledore gazed over his spectacles at Severus for a moment, causing the Potions Master to feel as if he were a student once again. "The talisman is also said to hold tremendous power, if utilized correctly. Or rather, incorrectly. I imagine that this is an opportunity Lord Voldemort would hardly pass up." Severus winced automatically, but nodded in agreement. Over twenty years of magical experimentation and mutation had begun to take their toll on the Dark Lord's body. Though still as powerful as ever, Tom Riddle was beginning to feel the effects. With such a talisman, however, he might be able to wield remarkable power, without any damage to himself…

"You think he's planning something bigger than the Surrey attack?" Snape asked, scrutinizing Dumbledore's face. The Headmaster remained impassive, however.

"It's possible," he conceded. "As someone so close to Lord Voldemort, I fear you may have the best chance to discover the exact whereabouts of the talisman and recover it." Snape nearly blanched at the idea. If the object in question was so integral to the Dark Lord's plans, it would be utter suicide to even attempt what Dumbledore was asking.

"I will see what I can do," he said finally.

o-oo-o00o-oo-o

Harry yawned widely, rubbing his eyes. He was in the library once again, having snuck into the restricted section for the third time that week. He and Neville seemed to have exhausted the backlogged _Prophets_. Harry had called a halt when he realized they had taken to reading old copies of _Witch Weekly_. That desperate they were not. Tonight, Harry had come down to the library alone, as Neville had been invited to the Longbottom's house for the evening. Harry shook his head ruefully, genuinely happy for his friend.

And it seemed that the Longbottoms were more than willing to accept Neville as their own. Frank had invited Neville to his small cottage near Black Pool Pier. Harry hoped the evening went well. It was more than the round-faced boy could have ever hoped for. If- _When_- they defeated Voldemort, Harry thought maybe things would be better. If anyone deserved to find a happy home, it was Neville.

He leaned on his elbow, and flipped another page of Magical Discoveries of the Twentieth Century. His eyes scanned disinterestedly down the page, until the phrase, "none would be more powerful than the other" caught his eye. He went back the top of the page and began to read.

"_Straus's findings proved that non-magical beings such as the rodents he used could be infused with magical properties. His later studies with Kneazles and Crups alleged that the opposite scenario was possible. His experiments explored the question of whether magical beings could be stripped of their power, rendering them completely free of magic, or "squib-like". In the early '40s, after years of experimentation, Straus achieved success in carefully controlled settings. Straus's student, Kaufman, who had fled to American soil during the Grindelwald Wars, took his master's findings further, testing different levels of power required to draw the magical components from a living body or to infuse power in the subject. Kaufman found that a vast amount of power was needed to perform the spell in any circumstances and his work revolved around creating a catalyst powerful enough in itself for the spell to be used by wizards of ordinary Wizarding level. Kaufman's journals suggest that the Arithmatist hoped to use his discovery to open the Wizarding World to muggles, creating a single race in which no one would be more powerful than the other. However, Kaufman was never able to publicize his handiwork, as many in the Wizarding world shied away from any magical developments which smacked of communism…" _

Harry leaned back, his fingers tapping against the page. His mind kept returning to the phrase at the top of the page, _"Magical beings could be stripped of their power, rendering them completely free of magic… "Squib-like_". Was this what he was looking for? _Rendering them squib-like. _ He remembered how, when he had first heard the prophecy, he had been certain he could never defeat Voldemort._ I haven't any powers he hasn't got!_ But what if…what if he could take that power away from Voldemort? Render Tom Riddle, "_squib-like". _ Would his various horcruxes even work without Voldemort's power to connect them to his soul?

Harry read down the page again, his mind alive with the possibilities. Kaufman had said that the spell was possible, if one had a catalyst powerful enough.

o-oo-o00o-oo-o

Saturday morning dawned grey and windy. The cold weather hadn't let up, and the smell of ice hung in the air. The school however was buzzing with the same fervent excitement that the first quidditch match of the season could only bring. Tensions had been running high all week, something which Harry had managed to completely ignore, Neville noticed in wonder.

They were sitting at breakfast in the Great Hall, noise pounding against their ears, as students cheered and clapped, most of them decked out in their house colors beneath hats, cloaks and scarves. Neville watched Harry discreetly over his own plate of eggs. His friend had been distracted and distant in the last two days. When forced to be in public, as he was now, Harry barely said more than five words to anyone, and avoided people altogether whenever he could get away with it. Neville was completely mystified as to what could have brought about the change in the dark-haired boy. He watched Harry idly play with his food, his green eyes fixed on the Hufflepuff table. Neville followed Harry's gaze, watching as Hermione, having finished her breakfast, pushed her plate away and stood up. Harry immediately dropped his fork.

"I'll see you in classes, Neville," Harry said, standing as well. Neville shot his friend a worried look.

"Harry, its Saturday."

"What?" Harry asked, meeting Neville's gaze for the first time all morning. "Oh right." He shook his head. "I'll see you," he amended, and then hurried off to catch Hermione, who was almost out of the Great Hall. Somehow, Neville didn't think Harry would turn up at the match today.

"Hermione," Harry called down the corridor, pushing past several excited Ravenclaws who were all jabbering loudly about the upcoming match. "Hermione!"

The Head Girl turned finally at the sound of her own name. Harry grinned, and dodging out of the way of another cluster of students, finally caught up to her.

"What is it?" Hermione asked him, shifting the bookbag strap on her shoulder. Harry glanced around, but the corridor was too loud and crowded for them to be overheard.

"Do you know anything about inventing spells?" he asked.

o-oo-o00o-oo-o

Okay, no promises on the next one being any quicker, but hopefully this chapter made up for the four month delay. *wince*.


	16. Encounters in the Library

BS"D

Not Mine.

Many thanks to my dear extra-comma person, my content person, and all those who are still reading this. You guys never fail to make my day. I'm so happy I was able to finish this so soon, as I'm back at school. Blah.

Chapter 16

Encounters the Library

"Pardon?" Hermione said after a short silence.

"Do you know anything about inventing spells?" Harry repeated, shifting his book bag nervously on his shoulder.

"Why?"Hermione asked, "Did Professor Dumbledore ask you to do something? I mean," she added, brushing a lock of hair off her face, "inventing spells is not a normal school assignment, is it?

Harry shook his head. "No," he admitted reluctantly. "And no, this is my own project."

"I wish I could help," Hermione said, her voice slightly dismissive "But I've never invented a spell before. It's supposed to be dreadfully difficult- even for seventh years," she added with a sniff.

"But you have to know something about the theory, right?" Harry said, now feeling slightly desperate. "I know for a fact that at least three of our classes have mentioned it at some point." But Hermione was shaking her head.

"No," she disagreed, "Flitwick and McGonagall were only talking about altering spells to suit your intentions. Like Switching Spells or Nonverbal Charms. Other than that…" she trailed off with a helpless shrug. She glanced up the entrance hall, which was quickly emptying as students flooded out the doors, heading down to the match. "Anyway, shouldn't you be going down to the match, like the rest of the school?"

Harry reached out and grabbed at her bag as the girl made to move off. "Please," he said, trying to reason with her. "It's important." She met his eyes uncomfortably.

"I wish I could help," she said again, sounding genuinely regretful now. "But the only people I've ever heard of inventing their own spells in this castle are Professor Dumbledore, and Professor Snape." Harry grimaced automatically at the thought, before doing a double-take.

"Professor Snape?" he asked, startled.

"At the very least, I know that he invented the wards around his office and his laboratory door," Hermione explained, but Harry was remembering the little potions book from sixth year. _Sectumsempra; Levicorpus; Muffliato;_ all creations of the Half-Blood Prince. But the hopeful bubble that had begun to inflate in his chest burst before he even finished the next thought. Even if Harry could bring himself to work with the man who he had hated for so long, why would _Snape_ want to help _him_? He sighed in defeat, letting go of Hermione's book bag. He had been so sure...but it was useless now.

"Well you could ask him," Hermione said, perplexed by his sudden surrender. She had been sure that it would be harder to convince him. "If it's that important to you…I'm sure he'd be willing to-"

"Thanks Hermione," Harry interrupted, paying no heed to her words. He fell back against the corridor wall, disappointment running through him. "But it's never going to work."

Hermione frowned. "You haven't even tried," she said. She glanced up the hallway, but the corridor had emptied by now. She lowered her voice. "Is this about what you were researching earlier?" Harry said nothing, which Hermione took for assent. "If your…project, has to do with defeating You-Know- Who, then why don't you go straight to Professor Dumbledore?"

"Well-" Harry began, having no idea what he was going to say.

"Have you even told him what you're doing?" Hermione asked shrewdly.

Harry grimaced, leaning his head back against the stone. "Isn't he busy enough?" he asked rhetorically, not meeting Hermione's eyes. Truth be told, he had not even thought of going to Dumbledore at all. But now that the suggestion had been spoken aloud, something within him rebelled against the idea. He could not explain it; all he knew was that he couldn't see himself taking the matter to Dumbledore anymore than he could ask Snape for help.

"Are you just afraid that he's going to forbid you from doing the project?" Hermione shot back with sudden venom. Harry's eyes snapped towards her, startled. Hermione's eyes were glittering with the kind of zeal Harry associated with her efforts towards SPEW. "I've been part of the Order for three years now, Harry. We've been fighting this war for too long. If you have something that might help, then why-" Hermione stopped to take a calming breath; her voice had risen uncontrollably. "Why are you holding out on the rest of us? For the glory of coming up with it yourself?"

"It's not that," Harry said, numbly. Truly it wasn't. He had never given a damn about glory. What was pressing at him was the memory of the a year of cryptic messages, of half-truths told to protect him, and a book which had revealed more to him than Dumbledore had ever seen fit to trust him with.

"Oh no?" Hermione's voice had lowered, but she looked no less fierce.

"No," Harry retorted, anger coming to his defense. "It's not."

Hermione took a step back, folding her arms over her chest. "Prove it."

Harry clenched his eyes shut for a second in exasperation. "You don't understand," he grit out, trying to keep his voice calm. "I…there are…."he growled in frustration as the words escaped him. He shut his eyes on Hermione's fierce expression. "I'm not holding out on anyone. I may have an idea, but then it may not be anything. _I don't know_."He opened his eyes again. "But I can't just traipse off to bother Dumbledore with some half-baked idea, and I'm bloody well not going to _Snape_." Hermione opened her mouth once again, but Harry cut her off, his voice calmer this time. "I'm not asking you to invent the spell for me; I'm not asking you to go behind Dumbledore's back. All I want is to know the theory."

Hermione frowned at him a few moments longer, then dropped her crossed arms in defeat. "Alright, I suppose." Harry breathed a sigh of relief before Hermione stuck a finger in his face, "But you have to promise that you'll go to Dumbledore if it goes any further." Harry rolled his eyes, but agreed.

o-oo-o00o-oo-o

Ron frowned in confusion, sure that he'd been heading down to the Great Hall for breakfast, not five minutes ago. Could he have been so distracted that he'd taken a wrong turn and lost his way? He hadn't gotten lost in the castle since Second Year. So what in Merlin's name was he doing on the Seventh floor, he wondered as he stared at the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. Completely unnerved, Ron made off down the empty corridor, feeling somewhat like he had missed a step going down the stairs. He rounded the corner, and came upon the next corridor, which was lined with windows. The light streaming through them was plainly not the early morning gray he had been expecting. Surely it shouldn't be this bright at eight in the morning this time of year? Frowning, Ron glanced down at his watch and felt his stomach drop in shock. It was half eleven? Was someone playing some joke on him?

His eyes swept his surroundings, searching for the culprit, but the corridor was deserted. Distantly, he remembered his sister last night, saying something about going to the quidditch match. Was that where everyone was now? He was three flights down, walking past the library, before he heard voices. His head turned sharply towards the noises, doubling back to peer through the door.

It seemed to be a tutoring session. The two figures were sitting across from one another, leaning so far forward into the middle of the tables that their foreheads were almost touching. The girl- Granger, judging by her bushy hair- was pointing at a spot in the book that lay between them, talking too low and rapidly for Ron to hear. He moved in closer, trying to hear, and recognized Potter. Something sparked to life in his mind, urging him forward. Though he didn't know why, Ron knew that he had to find out what they were saying. He stepped forward and the world went black.

o-oo-o00o-oo-o

Harry's and Hermione's heads shot up, Hermione's "Intent is imperative at this point…" dying in her throat as a floorboard creaked loudly in the silent library. Ron stood framed in the doorway.

"Ron?" Harry asked, standing up. Ron's eyes were distant, somehow, his manner awkward. It occurred to Harry that Ron had barely spoken two words to him in the past two weeks. Why had he not noticed?

"Didn't expect anyone to be here," Ron said tonelessly. "Sorry." He moved further into the room, heading for the bookshelves.

"Homework?" Harry called after him. Ron started, turning back to Harry.

"What?"

"Are you working on homework?" Harry clarified, with a nod to the book clasped in Ron's hand, still trying to work out what was wrong with Ron.

"What?" Ron seemed to draw a blank, then blinked. "Oh . yeah."

There was another awkward pause, then Ron moved on, heading towards the Arithmancy section. Harry cast Hermione a questioning look. Ron didn't take Arithmancy, did he?

"Can we continue this later," Harry muttered in a low voice. It was all he needed for another person to find out what he was up to. Hermione shrugged.

"Alright." Harry said, taking the gesture for assent. "Just let me know when you're available, yeah?".

"Sure," she said, closing the book they had been studying. She handed it to him, adding, "You might want to take this with you."

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said with a smile. Hermione smiled politely, but had one more question.

"Are you going to tell Neville what you're doing?"

Harry's stomach twisted guiltily. He shook his head. "I don't think so. Not just yet."

o-oo-o00o-oo-o

The world righted itself, and Ron blinked, feeling as if he had just emerged from a deep sleep. He looked around in confusion, wondering what the hell he was doing in the Arithmancy section of the library. He didn't even _take _Arithmancy. Feeling distinctly unsettled, Ron rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. The hand stopped as it met the feeling of a thin metal chain. Disturbed now, Ron traced the chain around to his front and pulled from beneath his robes a necklace he had never seen in his life. It was the shape of a five pointed star, in the center of which sat the shape of a hand. A large sapphire glittered in the palm of the hand, pulsing with obvious power. Where on earth had he got this?

o-oo-o00o-oo-o

I really did want to make this chapter longer. Honestly. But Harry's being an idiot, James has nothing to say, and Ron is just far too fascinating. Anyway, I hope you like it, though I'll probably be more amused than anything if you don't.


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